The writings of John Muir

C\l
10
10

GIFT OF

I

THE WRITINGS OF JOHN MUIR

VOLUME I

THE STORY OF
MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

AND

A THOUSAND-MILE WALK
TO THE GULF

BY

JOHN MUIE

BOSTON AND NEW YORK

HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY

MDCCCCXVI

COPYRIGHT, 1912 AND 1913, BY THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY COMPANY

COPYRIGHT, 1913, BY JOHN MUIR
COPYRIGHT, 1916, BY HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

EDITION LIMITED TO SEVEN
HUNDRED AND FIFTY COPIES
THIS IS NUMBER

PUBLISHERS' NOTE

THIS uniform edition of John Muir's Works
is published by arrangement with his family
and with Professor William Frederic Bade" , who
at their request acts as supervising editor of
Mr. Muir's published and unpublished writ
ings, and who has written the general Intro
duction which follows. The completeness of
the edition is made possible by the kind co
operation of the Century Company, who have
permitted the inclusion of the two books pub
lished by them, The Mountains of California
and The Yosemite. Most of the illustrations
are from photographs by Mr. Herbert W.
Gleason, who has tramped with Mr. Muir hi
the Sierra and has visited many other places
described in these volumes, from the Wisconsin
farm which was Muir's first American home
to the California ranch where he spent his last
years.

V.I

5335

INTRODUCTION

" LONGEST is the life that contains the largest
amount of time-effacing enjoyment — of work
that is a steady delight. Such a life may really
comprise an eternity upon earth." These
words of John Muir I noted down after one of
our last conversations. To few men was it
given to realize so completely the element of
eternity — of time-effacing enjoyment in work
— as it was to John Muir. The secret of it all
was in his soul, the soul of a child, of a poet,
and of a strong man, all blended into one.
Only such a one would have mounted the top
of a pine tree in a gale-swept forest in order to
enjoy the better the passionate music of the
storm, and then tell how "we all travel the
milky way together, trees and men; but it
never occurred to me until this storm-day/' he
wrote, "that trees are travelers in the ordinary
sense. They make many journeys, not exten
sive ones it is true ; but our own little journeys,
away and back again, are only little more than
tree-wavings — many of them not so much."

But the play of his rich imagination did not
pause with the adventure in the tree-top.

vii

INTRODUCTION

"When the storm began to abate," he con
tinues, "I dismounted and sauntered down
through the calming woods. The storm-tones
died away, and turning toward the east, I be
held the countless hosts of the forests hushed
and tranquil, towering above one another on
the slopes of the hills like a devout audience.
The setting sun filled them with amber light,
and seemed to say, while they listened, 'My
peace I give unto you/ "

These quotations illustrate the irresistible
charm of simplicity, the directness of poetical
feeling and perception, that were a part of
everything Mr. Muir wrote, said, and did.
When he struck out upon the long trail he was
not only foremost among the nature writers of
America, but in many respects the most dis
tinguished figure among contemporary men of
letters. It will take more than this hasteful,
fretful generation to take the measure of his
greatness, and to explore the sources of his
power.

Before me lies a letter written to Mr. Muir by
a friend fifty years ago. He was then twenty-
nine years old and had just received a serious
injury to one of his eyes. "Dear John/' the
writer says, "I have often wondered what God
was training you for. He gave you the eye
within the eye, to see in all natural objects the

viii

INTRODUCTION

realized ideas of His mind. He gave you pure
tastes, and the steady preference of whatso
ever is most lovely and excellent. He has made
you a more individualized existence than is
common, and by your very nature and organi
zation removed you from common tempta
tions. . . . Do not be anxious about your call
ing. God will surely place you where your
work is."

Thus early did his friends see in him those
personal qualities and those powers of insight
which gave a rare distinction to his person and
his presence. Evil thoughts fled at the sound of
his voice. An innate nobility of character, an
unstudied reverence for all that is sublime in
nature or in life, unconsciously called forth the
best in his friends and acquaintances. In the
spiritual as in the physical realm flowers blos
somed in his footsteps where he went. After all,
it is to such men as John Muir that we must
look for the sustenance of those finer feelings
that keep men in touch with the spiritual
meaning and beauty of the universe, and make
them capable of understanding those rare
souls whose insight has invested life with im
perishable hope and charm.

Not many years ago the directors of the
Sierra Club arranged for a quiet little dinner
in honor of James Bryce, when he returned

ix

INTRODUCTION

from his visit to Australia. To all intents and
purposes there were only two men at the dinner,
Bryce and Muir, for the rest were intent lis
teners — too intent, altogether, to take more
than mental notes. Both were enlarging upon
the value of the civilizing influences that arise
from a deep and humane understanding of
nature. Lord Bryce ventured the remark that
the establishment of national parks, and the
fostering of a love of nature and outdoor life
among children, would do more for the morals
of the nation than libraries and law codes.
Muir welcomed this opinion, and added that
children ought to be trained to take a sym
pathetic interest in our wild birds and ani
mals. " Under proper training," he said,
"even the most savage boy will rise above
the bloody flesh and sport business, the wild
foundational animal dying out day by day as
divine, uplifting, transfiguring charity grows
in."

To all who knew John Muir intimately his
gentleness and humaneness toward all crea
tures that shared the world with him was one of
the finest attributes of his character. He was
ever looking forward to the time when our wild
fellow creatures would be granted their in
disputable right to a place in the sun. The
shy creatures of forest and plain have lost in

INTRODUCTION

him an incomparable lover, biographer, and
defender.

John Muir's writings are sure to live — by
the law that men, when they lift their eyes
from the commonplace tasks of work-a-day
life, unerringly, indefeasibly fix them on the
snowy crests of human thought and achieve
ment. Thence it is that they must derive their
power to hope and to toil. As long as daisies
shall continue to star the fields of Scotland men
will choose to see them through the eyes of
Burns. Forgotten generations have heard the
nightingale sing its love-song at twilight; but
a finer music is in -the song since Keats listened
to the notes from the thicket on the hill. Nor
will the name of Wordsworth ever be disso
ciated from the carol of the rising lark and
the call of the cuckoo across the quiet of rural
England.

John Muir is of their number. He had "the
eye within the eye" — was a seer of rare dis
tinction. Among the great few who have won
title to remembrance as prophets and inter
preters of nature he rises to a moral as well as
poetical altitude that will command the ad
miring attention of men so long as human rec
ords shall endure. Thousands and thousands,
hereafter, who go to the mountains, streams,
and canons of California will choose to see

XI

INTRODUCTION

them through the eyes of John Muir, and they
will see more deeply because they see with his
eyes.

But while in a high sense his wisdom has be
come a part of us forever, his going has left an
aching void in the hearts of all lovers of the
California mountains. Long accustomed to
meet him where wild rivers go singing down the
canons, and skyey trails are lost amid cloudy
pines, they now must perforce apply to him the
simple words which sixteen years ago he wrote
on his visit to the grave of his friend Ralph
Waldo Emerson: "He had gone to higher
Sierras, and, as I fancied, was again waving his
hand in friendly recognition."

WILLIAM FREDERIC BADE

BERKELEY, CALIFORNIA
April 15, 1916

CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION, BY WILLIAM FREDERIC BADE . . vii

THE STORY OF MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

I. A BOYHOOD IN SCOTLAND 3

II. A NEW WORLD 43

III. LIFE ON A WISCONSIN FARM .... 74

IV. A PARADISE OF BIRDS Ill

V. YOUNG HUNTERS . . . . . . . . 135

VI. THE PLOUGHBOY 159

VII. KNOWLEDGE AND INVENTIONS .... 192
VIII. THE WORLD AND THE UNIVERSITY . . 209

A THOUSAND-MILE WALK TO THE GULF

INTRODUCTION, BY WILLIAM FREDERIC BADE . .231

I. KENTUCKY FORESTS AND CAVES . . . 247

II. CROSSING THE CUMBERLAND MOUNTAINS . 260

III. THROUGH THE RIVER COUNTRY OF GEORGIA 284

IV. CAMPING AMONG THE TOMBS .... 299
V. THROUGH FLORIDA SWAMPS AND FORESTS . 312

VI. CEDAR KEYS 344

VII. A SOJOURN IN CUBA 360

VIII. BY A CROOKED ROUTE TO CALIFORNIA . . 381

IX. TWENTY HILL HOLLOW 400

INDEX , .... 417

ILLUSTBATIONS

JOHN MUIR Frontispiece 1

From a photograph copyrighted by J. Edward
B. Greene

THE BOYHOOD HOME AT DUNBAR, SCOTLAND . 18
From a photograph in the possession of Mr.
David Muir, now living at Pacific Grove, Cali
fornia. Mr. Muir was born in the house at the
left, but soon after the family moved into the
next building, now used as a hotel. The main '
entrance was in the middle, and on the right
Mr. Muir's father kept a store where he sold
flour and grain. The parlor was at the left of
the entrance and the living-rooms above. The
dormer window at the left is the one out of
which John and David crawled in their daring
" scootchers."

MUIR'S LAKE (FOUNTAIN LAKE) AND THE GARDEN
MEADOW 52

Sketched by John Muir from the roof of the Bur-
Oak Shanty

THE FIRST WISCONSIN HOME 82

On the hill near the shanty built in the summer of
1849.

From a sketch by Mr. Muir

MUIR'S LAKE (FOUNTAIN LAKE) 94

This view was taken from the west shore of the
lake, the Muir homestead being in the open space
across the lake. The frame house built by Mr.
Muir's father was burned some years ago. The
lake and its surroundings are very much as de
scribed by Mr. Muir, except that the heavier
woods have been cut away.

From a photograph by Herbert W. Gleason

xv

ILLUSTRATIONS

MEADOW LILY 98

This flower (Lilium Canadense) is found through
out the eastern half of the United States, grow
ing abundantly in favorable localities, especially
moist meadows. The bell-like flowers vary in
color from light yellow to deep orange, marked
with brown spots.

From a photograph by Herbert W. Gleason

THE SCHOOLHOUSE . 112

In this building Mr. Muir attended school for a
short time while the family lived at Fountain
Lake Farm.

From a photograph by Herbert W. Gleason

CLOCK WITH HAND RISING AND SETTING WITH THE

SUN 132

Invented by the Author in his boyhood.
From a Sketch by Mr. Muir

BAROMETER 140

Invented by the Author in his boyhood.
From a sketch by Mr. Muir

OUTLET OF MUIR'S LAKE 148

The outlet of Muir's Lake (now known as "En-
nis's Lake") is a small stream which flows into
Fox River. The view is taken near the point
where the road, which now follows the old Indian
trail along Fox River, crosses the stream.
From a photograph by Herbert W. Gleason

A CHIPMUNK 156

From a photograph by Herbert W. Gleason

COMBINED THERMOMETER, HYGROMETER, BAROM
ETER, AND PYROMETER 168

Invented by the Author in his boyhood.
From a sketch by Mr. Muir

THE HICKORY HILL HOUSE 184

Built in 1857.

From a sketch by Mr. Muir

xvi

ILLUSTRATIONS

THERMOMETER 206

Invented by the Author in his boyhood.
From a sketch by Mr. Muir

SELF-SETTING SAWMILL 206

Model built in cellar. Invented by the Author
in his boyhood.

From a sketch by Mr. Muir

DESK 226

Made and used by the Author at the Wisconsin
State University

From a sketch by Mr. Muir

A GROVE OF LONG-LEAFED PINES .... 290
The Long-leafed Pine is the most notable coni
fer of the Southern States. From it are derived
great quantities of turpentine, rosin, etc. It is
found usually in scattered groves, the trees rang
ing from seventy-five to one hundred feet in
height, with a trunk-diameter of from two to
four feet.

From a photograph by Herbert W. Gleason

OAKS IN BONAVENTURE CEMETERY .... 300

A typical view along one of the avenues in Bona-
venture Cemetery, Savannah, Georgia. The
moss-draped oaks are even grander and more
picturesque than when they were visited by Mr.
Muir fifty years ago.

From a photograph by Herbert W. Gleason

MAP SHOWING ROUTE OF THE WALK TO THE GULF 416

THE STORY OF
MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

THE STORY OF
MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

CHAPTER I

A BOYHOOD IN SCOTLAND

WHEN I was a boy in Scotland I was fond of
everything that was wild, and all my life I Ve
been growing fonder and fonder of wild places
and wild creatures. Fortunately around my
native town of Dunbar, by the stormy North
Sea, there was no lack of wildness, though most
of the land lay in smooth cultivation. With
red-blooded playmates, wild as myself, I loved
to wander in the fields to hear the birds sing,
and along the seashore to gaze and wonder at
the shells and seaweeds, eels and crabs in the
pools among the rocks when the tide was low;
and best of all to watch the waves in awful
storms thundering on the black headlands and
craggy ruins of the old Dunbar Castle when
the sea and the sky, the waves and the clouds,
were mingled together as one. We never
thought of playing truant, but after I was five
or six years old I ran away to the seashore or
the fields almost every Saturday, and every day

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

in the school vacations except Sundays, though
solemnly warned that I must play at home in
the garden and back yard, lest I should learn to
think bad thoughts and say bad words. All in
vain. In spite of the sure sore punishments
that followed like shadows, the natural in
herited wildness in our blood ran true on its
glorious course as invincible and unstoppable
as stars.

My earliest recollections of the country were
gained on short walks with my grandfather
when I was perhaps not over three years old.
On one of these walks grandfather took me to
Lord Lauderdale's gardens, where I saw figs
growing against a sunny wall and tasted some
of them, and got as many apples to eat as I
wished. On another memorable walk in a hay-
field, when we sat down to rest on one of the
haycocks I heard a sharp, prickly, stinging cry,
and, jumping up eagerly, called grandfather's
attention to it. He said he heard only the wind,
but I insisted on digging into the hay and
turning it over until we discovered the source
of the strange exciting sound — a mother field
mouse with half a dozen naked young hanging
to her teats. This to me was a wonderful dis
covery. No hunter could have been more ex
cited on discovering a bear and her cubs in a
wilderness den.

A BOYHOOD IN SCOTLAND

I was sent to school before I had completed
my third year. The first schoolday was doubt
less full of wonders, but I am not able to recall
any of them. I remember the servant washing
my face and getting soap in my eyes, and
mother hanging a little green bag with my first
book in it around my neck so I would not lose
it, and its blowing back in the sea-wind like a
flag. But before I was sent to school my grand
father, as I was told, had taught me my letters
from shop signs across the street. I can remem
ber distinctly how proud I was when I had
spelled my way through the little first book
into the second, which seemed large and
important, and so on to the third. Going from
one book to another formed a grand triumphal
advancement, the memories of which still
stand out in clear relief.

The third book contained interesting stories
as well as plain reading and spelling lessons.
To me the best story of all was " Llewellyn's
Dog," the first animal that comes to mind
after the needle-voiced field mouse. It so
deeply interested and touched me and some of
my classmates that we read it over and over
with aching hearts, both in and out of school,
and shed bitter tears over the brave faithful
dog, Gelert, slain by his own master, who im
agined that he had devoured his son because

5

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

he came to him all bloody when the boy was
lost, though he had saved the child's life by
killing a big wolf. We have to look far back to
learn how great may be the capacity of a child's
heart for sorrow and sympathy with animals
as well as with human friends and neighbors.
This auld-lang-syne story stands out in the
throng of old schoolday memories as clearly
as if I had myself been one of that Welsh
hunting-party — heard the bugles blowing,
seen Gelert slain, joined in the search for the
lost child, discovered it at last happy and smil
ing among the grass and bushes beside the dead,
mangled wolf, and wept with Llewellyn over
the sad fate of his noble, faithful dog friend.

Another favorite in this book was Southey's
poem "The Inchcape Bell," a story of a priest
and a pirate. A good priest in order to warn
seamen in dark stormy weather hung a big
bell on the dangerous Inchcape Rock. The
greater the storm and higher the waves, the
louder rang the warning bell, until it was cut
off and sunk by wicked Ralph the Rover. One
fine day, as the story goes, when the bell was
ringing gently, the pirate put out to the rock,
saying, "I'll sink that bell and plague the
Abbot of Aberbrothok." So he cut the rope,
and down went the bell "with a gurgling sound ;
the bubbles rose and burst around," etc. Then
6

A BOYHOOD IN SCOTLAND

"Ralph the Rover sailed away; he scoured the
seas for many a day; and now, grown rich with
plundered store, he steers his course for Scot
land's shore." Then came a terrible storm with
cloud darkness and night darkness and high
roaring waves. " Now where we are," cried the
pirate, "I cannot tell, but I wish I could hear
the Inchcape bell." And the story goes on to
tell how the wretched rover "tore his hair,"
and "curst himself in his despair," when "with
a shivering shock" the stout ship struck on the
Inchcape Rock, and went down with Ralph
and his plunder beside the good priest's bell.
The story appealed to our love of kind deeds
and of wildness and fair play.

A lot of terrifying experiences connected
with these first schooldays grew out of crimes
committed by the keeper of a low lodging-
house in Edinburgh, who allowed poor home
less wretches to sleep on benches or the floor for
a penny or so a night, and, when kind Death
came to their relief, sold the bodies for dissec
tion to Dr. Hare of the medical school. None
of us children ever heard anything like the
original story. The servant girls told us that
"Dandy Doctors," clad in long black cloaks
and supplied with a store of sticking-plaster of
wondrous adhesiveness, prowled at night about
the country lanes and even the town streets,
7

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

watching for children to choke and sell. The
Dandy Doctor's business method, as the serv
ants explained it, was with lightning quickness
to clap a sticking-plaster on the face of a
scholar, covering mouth and nose, preventing
breathing or crying for help, then pop us under
his long black cloak and carry us to Edinburgh
to be sold and sliced into small pieces for folk
to learn how we were made. We always men
tioned the name "Dandy Doctor" in a fearful
whisper, and never dared venture out of doors
after dark. In the short winter days it got dark
before school closed, and in cloudy weather we
sometimes had difficulty in finding our way
home unless a servant with a lantern was sent
for us; but during the Dandy Doctor period the
school was closed earlier, for if detained until
the usual hour the teacher could not get us to
leave the schoolroom. We would rather stay
all night supperless than dare the mysterious
doctors supposed to be lying in wait for us. We
had to go up a hill called the Davel Brae that
lay between the schoolhouse and the main
street. One evening just before dark, as we
were running up the hill, one of the boys
shouted, " A Dandy Doctor! A Dandy Doctor!"
and we all fled pellmell back into the school-
house to the astonishment of Mungo Siddons,
the teacher. I can remember to this day the
8

A BOYHOOD IN SCOTLAND

amused look on the good dominie's face as he
stared and tried to guess what had got into us,
until one of the older boys breathlessly ex
plained that there was an awful big Dandy
Doctor on the Brae and we couldna gang hame.
Others corroborated the dreadful news. " Yes!
We saw him, plain as ony thing, with his lang
black cloak to hide us in, and some of us
thought we saw a sticken-plaister ready in his
hand." We were in such a state of fear and
trembling that the teacher saw he was n't
going to get rid of us without going himself as
leader. He went only a short distance, however,
and turned us over to the care of the two biggest
scholars, who led us to the top of the Brae and
then left us to scurry home and dash into the
door like pursued squirrels diving into their
holes.

Just before school skaled (closed), we all
arose and sang the fine hymn " Lord, dismiss us
with Thy blessing." In the spring when the
swallows were coming back from their winter
homes we sang —

" Welcome, welcome, little stranger,
Welcome from a foreign shore:
Safe escaped from many a danger . . ."

and while singing we all swayed in rhythm with
the music. "The Cuckoo," that always told
his name in the spring of the year, was another

9

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

favorite song, and when there was nothing in
particular to call to mind any special bird or
animal, the songs we sang were widely varied,
such as

" The whale, the whale is the beast for me,
Plunging along through the deep, deep sea."

But the best of all was "Lord, dismiss us with
Thy blessing," though at that time the most
significant part I fear was the first three words.

With my school lessons father made me learn
hymns and Bible verses. For learning " Rock of
Ages" he gave me a penny, and I thus became
suddenly rich. Scotch boys are seldom spoiled
with money. We thought more of a penny
those economical days than the poorest Amer
ican schoolboy thinks of a dollar. To decide
what to do with that first penny was an ex
travagantly serious affair. I ran in great excite
ment up and down the street, examining the
tempting goodies in the shop windows before
venturing on so important an investment.
My playmates also became excited when the
wonderful news got abroad that Johnnie Muir
had a penny, hoping to obtain a taste of the
orange, apple, or candy it was likely to bring
forth.

At this time infants were baptized and vac
cinated a few days after birth. I remember

10

A BOYHOOD IN SCOTLAND

very well a fight with the doctor when my
brother David was vaccinated. This hap
pened, I think, before I was sent to school. I
could n't imagine what the doctor, a tall,
severe-looking man in black, was doing to my
brother, but as mother, who was holding him
in her arms, offered no objection, I looked on
quietly while he scratched the arm until I saw
blood. Then, unable to trust even my mother,
I managed to spring up high enough to grab
and bite the doctor's arm, yelling that I wasna
gan to let htm hurt my bonnie brither, while
to my utter astonishment mother and the
doctor only laughed at me. So far from com
plete at times is sympathy between parents
and children, and so much like wild beasts
are baby boys, little fighting, biting, climbing
pagans.

Father was proud of his garden and seemed
always to be trying to make it as much like
Eden as possible, and in a corner of it he gave
each of us a little bit of ground for our very
own, in which we planted what we best liked,
wondering how the hard dry seeds could change
into soft leaves and flowers and find their way
out to the light; and, to see how they were
coming on, we used to dig up the larger ones,
such as peas and beans, every day. My aunt
had a corner assigned to her hi our garden,
11

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

which she filled with lilies, and we all looked
with the utmost respect and admiration at that
precious lily-bed and wondered whether when
we grew up we should ever be rich enough to
own one anything like so grand. We imagined
that each lily was worth an enormous sum of
money and never dared to touch a single leaf
or petal of them. We really stood in awe of
them. Far, far was I then from the wild lily
gardens of California that I was destined to
see in their glory.

When I was a little boy at Mungo Siddons's
school a flower-show was held in Dunbar, and
I saw a number of the exhibitors carrying large
handfuls of dahlias, the first I had ever seen.
I thought them marvelous in size and beauty
and, as in the case of my aunt's lilies, wondered
if I should ever be rich enough to own some of
them.

Although I never dared to touch my aunt's
sacred lilies, I have good cause to remember
stealing some common flowers from an apothe
cary, Peter Lawson, who also answered the
purpose of a regular physician to most of the
poor people of the town and adjacent country.
He had a pony which was considered very wild
and dangerous, and when he was called out of
town he mounted this wonderful beast, which,
after standing long in the stable, was frisky

12

A BOYHOOD IN SCOTLAND

and boisterous, and often to our delight reared
and jumped and danced about from side to
side of the street before he could be persuaded
to go ahead. We boys gazed in awful admiration
and wondered how the druggist could be so
brave and able as to get on and stay on that
wild beast's back. This famous Peter loved
flowers and had a fine garden surrounded by an
iron fence, through the bars of which, when I
thought no one saw me, I oftentimes snatched
a flower and took to my heels. One day Peter
discovered me in this mischief, dashed out into
the street and caught me. I screamed that I
wouldna steal any more if he would let me go.
He did n't say anything but just dragged me
along to the stable where he kept the wild
pony, pushed me in right back of its heels, and
shut the door. I was screaming, of course, but
as soon as I was imprisoned the fear of being
kicked quenched all noise. I hardly dared
breathe. My only hope was in motionless
silence. Imagine the agony I endured! I did
not steal any more of his flowers. He was a
good hard judge of boy nature.

I was in Peter's hands some time before this,
when I was about two and a half years old.
The servant girl bathed us small folk before
putting us to bed. The smarting soapy scrub-
bings of the Saturday nights in preparation
13

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

for the Sabbath were particularly severe, and
we all dreaded them. My sister Sarah, the
next older than me, wanted the long-legged
stool I was sitting on awaiting my turn, so she
just tipped me off. My chin struck on the edge
of the bath-tub, and, as I was talking at the
time, my tongue happened to be hi the way of
my teeth when they were closed by the blow,
and a deep gash was cut on the side of it, which
bled profusely. Mother came running at the
noise I made, wrapped me up, put me in the
servant girl's arms and told her to run with me
through the garden and out by a back way to
Peter Lawson to have something done to stop
the bleeding. He simply pushed a wad of cotton
into my mouth after soaking it in some brown
astringent stuff, and told me to be sure to keep
my mouth shut and all would soon be well.
Mother put me to bed, calmed my fears, and
told me to lie still and sleep like a gude bairn.
But just as I was dropping off to sleep I swal
lowed the bulky wad of medicated cotton and
with it, as I imagined, my tongue also. My
screams over so great a loss brought mother,
and when she anxiously took me in her arms
and inquired what was the matter, I told her
that I had swallowed my tongue. She only
laughed at me, much to my astonishment,
when I expected that she would bewail the
14

A BOYHOOD IN SCOTLAND

awful loss her boy had sustained. My sisters,
who were older than I, oftentimes said when I
happened to be talking too much, " It's a pity
you had n't swallowed at least half of that long
tongue of yours when you were little."

It appears natural for children to be fond of
water, although the Scotch method of making
every duty dismal contrived to make necessary
bathing for health terrible to us. I well remem-
be'r among the awful experiences of childhood
being taken by the servant to the seashore
when I was between two and three years old,
stripped at the side of a deep pool in the rocks,
plunged into it among crawling crawfish and
slippery wriggling snake-like eels, and drawn
up gasping and shrieking only to be plunged
down again and again. As the time approached
for this terrible bathing, I used to hide in the
darkest corners of the house, and oftentimes
a long search was required to find me. But after
we were a few years older, we enjoyed bathing
with other boys as we wandered along the shore,
careful, however, not to get into a pool that
had an invisible boy-devouring monster at the
bottom of it. Such pools, miniature maelstroms,
were called "sookin-in-goats" and were well
known to most of us. Nevertheless we never
ventured into any'pool on strange parts of the
coast before we had thrust a stick into it. If

15

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

the stick were not pulled out of our hands, we
boldly entered and enjoyed plashing and duck
ing long ere we had learned to swim.

One of our best playgrounds was the famous
old Dunbar Castle, to which King Edward fled
after his defeat at Bannockburn. It was built
more than a thousand years ago, and though
we knew little of its history, we had heard
many mysterious stories of the battles fought
about its walls, and firmly believed that every
bone we found in the rums belonged to an
ancient warrior. We tried to see who could
climb highest on the crumbling peaks and
crags, and took chances that no cautious moun
taineer would try. That I did not fall and
finish my rock-scrambling in those adven
turous boyhood days seems now a reasonable
wonder.

Among our best games were running, jump
ing, wrestling, and scrambling. I was so proud
of my skill as a climber that when I first heard
of hell from a servant girl who loved to tell its
horrors and warn us that if we did anything
wrong we would be cast into it, I always in
sisted that I could climb out of it. I imagined
it was only a sooty pit with stone walls like
those of the castle, and I felt sure there must be
chinks and cracks in the masonry for fingers
and toes. Anyhow the terrors of the horrible
16

A BOYHOOD IN SCOTLAND

place seldom lasted long beyond the telling;
for natural faith casts out fear.

Most of the Scotch children believe in ghosts,
and some under peculiar conditions continue
to believe in them all through life. Grave
ghosts are deemed particularly dangerous, and
many of the most credulous will go far out of
their way to avoid passing through or near a
graveyard in the dark. After being instructed
by the servants in the nature, looks, and habits
of the various black and white ghosts, boowuz-
zies, and witches we often speculated as to
whether they could run fast, and tried to be
lieve that we had a good chance to get away
from most of them. To improve our speed and
wind, we often took long runs into the country.
Tarn o'Shanter's mare outran a lot of witches,
— at least until she reached a place of safety
beyond the keystone of the bridge, — and we
thought perhaps we also might be able to out
run them.

Our house formerly belonged to a physician,
and a servant girl told us that the ghost of the
dead doctor haunted one of the unoccupied
rooms in the second story that was kept dark
on account of a heavy window-tax. Our bed
room was adjacent to the ghost room, which
had in it a lot of chemical apparatus, — glass
tubing, glass and brass retorts, test-tubes,
17

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

flasks, etc., — and we thought that those
strange articles were still used by the old dead
doctor in compounding physic^ In the long
summer days David and I were put to bed sev
eral hours before sunset. Mother tucked us in
carefully, drew the curtains of the big old-fash
ioned bed, and told us to lie still and sleep like
gude bairns; but we were usually out of bed,
playing games of daring called "scootchers,"
about as soon as our loving mother reached
the foot of the stairs, for we could n't lie still,
however hard we might try. Going into the
ghost room was regarded as a very great
scootcher. After venturing hi a few steps and
rushing back in terror, I used to dare David to
go as far without getting caught.

The roof of our house, as well as the crags
and walls of the old castle, offered fine moun
taineering exercise. Our bedroom was lighted
by a dormer window. One night I opened it in
search of good scootchers and hung myself out
over the slates, holding on to the sill, while the
wind was making a balloon of my nightgown.
I then dared David to try the adventure, and
he did. Then I went out again and hung by
one hand, and David did the same. Then I
hung by one finger, being careful not to slip,
and he did that too. Then I stood on the sill
and examined the edge of the left wall of the
18

A BOYHOOD IN SCOTLAND

window, crept up the slates along its side by
slight finger-holds, got astride of the roof, sat
there a few minutes looking at the scenery over
the garden wall while the wind was howling
and threatening to blow me off, then managed
to slip down, catch hold of the sill, and get
safely back into the room. But before attempt
ing this scootcher, recognizing its dangerous
character, with commendable caution I warned
David that in case I should happen to slip I
would grip the rain-trough when I was going
over the eaves and hang on, and that he must
then run fast downstairs and tell father to get
a ladder for me, and tell him to be quick be
cause I would soon be tired hanging dangling
in the wind by my hands. After my return from
this capital scootcher, David, not to be out
done, crawled up to the top of the window-
roof, and got bravely astride of it; but in try
ing to return he lost courage and began to
greet (to cry), "I canna get doon. Oh, I canna
get doon." I leaned out of the window and
shouted encouragingly, "Dinna greet, Davie,
dinna greet, I'll help ye doon. If you greet,
fayther will hear, and gee us baith an awfu'
skelping." Then, standing on the sill and hold
ing on by one hand to the window-casing, I
directed him to slip his feet down within reach,
and, after securing a good hold, I jumped
19

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

inside and dragged him in by his heels. This
finished scootcher-scrambling for the night and
frightened us into bed.

In the short winter days, when it was dark
even at our early bedtime, we usually spent
the hours before going to sleep playing voyages
around the world under the bed-clothing. After
mother had carefully covered us, bade us good
night and gone downstairs, we set out on our
travels. Burrowing like moles, we visited
France, India, America, Australia, New Zea
land, and all the places we had ever heard of;
our travels never ending until we fell asleep.
When mother came to take a last look at us,
before she went to bed, to see that we were
covered, we were oftentimes covered so well
that she had difficulty in finding us, for we
were hidden in all sorts of positions where
sleep happened to overtake us, but in the morn
ing we always found ourselves in good order,
lying straight like gude bairns, as she said.

Some fifty years later, when I visited Scot
land, I got one of my Dunbar schoolmates to
introduce me to the owners of our old home,
from whom I obtained permission to go up
stairs to examine our bedroom window and
judge what sort of adventure getting on its
roof must have been, and with all my after
experience in mountaineering, I found that

20

A BOYHOOD IN SCOTLAND

what I had done in daring boyhood was now
beyond my skill.

Boys are often at once cruel and merciful,
thoughtlessly hard-hearted and tender-hearted,
sympathetic, pitiful, and kind in ever-changing
contrasts. Love of neighbors, human or animal,
grows up amid savage traits, coarse and fine.
When father made out to get us securely locked
up in the back yard to prevent our shore and
field wanderings, we had to play away the com
paratively dull time as best we could. One of
our amusements was hunting cats without
seriously hurting them. These sagacious ani
mals knew, however, that, though not very
dangerous, boys were not to be trusted. One
time in particular I remember, when we began
throwing stones at an experienced old Tom,
not wishing to hurt him much, though he was
a tempting mark. He soon saw what we were
up to, fled to the stable, and climbed to the
top of the hay manger. He was still within
range, however, and we kept the stones flying
faster and faster, but he just blinked and
played possum without wincing either at our
best shots or at the noise we made. I hap
pened to strike him pretty hard with a good-
sized pebble, but he still blinked and sat still
as if without feeling. "He must be mortally
wounded," I said, "and now we must kill him
21

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

to put him out of pain," the savage in us rap
idly growing with indulgence. All took heartily
to this sort of cat mercy and began throwing
the heaviest stones we could manage, but that
old fellow knew what characters we were, and
just as we imagined him mercifully dead he
evidently thought the play was becoming too
serious and that it was tune to retreat; for
suddenly with a wild whirr and gurr of energy
he launched himself over our heads, rushed
across the yard in a blur of speed, climbed to
the roof of another building and over the
garden wall, out of pain and bad company,
with all his lives wide awake and in good work
ing order.

After we had thus learned that Tom had at
least nine lives, we tried to verify the common
saying that no matter how far cats fell they
always landed on their feet unhurt. We caught
one hi our back yard, not Tom but a smaller
one of manageable size, and somehow got him
smuggled up to the top story of the house. I
don't know how in the world we managed to
let go of him, for as soon as we opened the win
dow and held him over the sill he knew his
danger and made violent efforts to scratch and
bite his way back into the room; but we de
termined to carry the thing through, and at last
managed to drop him. I can remember to this

22

A BOYHOOD IN SCOTLAND

day how the poor creature in danger of his life
strained and balanced as he was falling and
managed to alight on his feet. This was a cruel
thing for even wild boys to do, and we never
tried the experiment again, for we sincerely
pitied the poor fellow when we saw him creep
ing slowly away, stunned and frightened, with
a swollen black and blue chin.

Again — showing the natural savagery of
boys — we delighted hi dog-fights, and even in
the horrid red work of slaughter-houses, often
running long distances and climbing over walls
and roofs to see a pig killed, as soon as we heard
the desperately earnest squealing. And if the
butcher was good-natured, we begged him to let
us get a near view of the mysterious insides and
to give us a bladder to blow up for a foot-ball.

But here is an illustration of the better side
of boy nature. In our back yard there were
three elm trees and in the one nearest the house
a pair of robin-redbreasts had then- nest. When
the young were almost able to fly, a troop of
the celebrated "Scottish Grays," visited Dun-
bar, and three or four of the fine horses were
lodged in our stable. When the soldiers were
polishing their swords and helmets, they hap
pened to notice the nest, and just as they were
leaving, one of them climbed the tree and
robbed it. With sore sympathy we watched

23

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

the young birds as the hard-hearted robber
pushed them one by one beneath his jacket, —
all but two that jumped out of the nest and
tried to fly, but they were easily caught as
they fluttered on the ground, and were hidden
away with the rest. The distress of the be
reaved parents, as they hovered and screamed
over the frightened crying children they so long
had loved and sheltered and fed, was pitiful to
see; but the shining soldier rode grandly away
on his big gray horse, caring only for the few
pennies the young songbirds would bring and
the beer they would buy, while we all, sisters
and brothers, were crying and sobbing. I
remember, as if it happened this day, how my
heart fairly ached and choked me. Mother
put us to bed and tried to comfort us, telling us
that the little birds would be well fed and grow
big, and soon learn to sing in pretty cages; but
again and again we rehearsed the sad story of
the poor bereaved birds and then- frightened
children, and could not be comforted. Father
came into the room when we were half asleep
and still sobbing, and I heard mother telling
him that "a' the bairns' hearts were broken
over the robbing of the nest in the elm."

After attaining the manly, belligerent age of
five or six years, very few of my schooldays
passed without a fist fight, and half a dozen
24

A BOYHOOD IN SCOTLAND

was no uncommon number. When any class
mate of our own age questioned our rank and
standing as fighters, we always made haste to
settle the matter at a quiet place on the Davel
Brae. To be a "gude fechter" was our highest
ambition, our dearest aim in life in or out of
school. To be a good scholar was a secondary
consideration, though we tried hard to hold
high places in our classes and gloried in being
Dux. We fairly reveled in the battle stories of
glorious William Wallace and Robert the Bruce,
with which every breath of Scotch air is sat
urated, and of course we were all going to be
soldiers. On the Davel Brae battleground we
often managed to bring on something like real
war, greatly more exciting than personal com
bat. Choosing leaders, we divided into two
armies. In winter damp snow furnished plenty
of ammunition to make the thing serious, and
hi summer sand and grass sods. Cheering and
shouting some battle-cry such as " Bannock-
burn! Bannockburn! Scotland forever! The
Last War in India!" we were led bravely on.
For heavy battery work we stuffed our Scotch
blue bonnets with snow and sand, sometimes
mixed with gravel, and fired them at each
other as cannon-balls.

Of course we always looked eagerly forward
to vacation days and thought them slow in
25

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

coming. Old Mungo Siddons gave us a lot of
gooseberries or currants and wished us a happy
time. Some sort of special closing-exercises —
singing, recitations, etc. — celebrated the great
day, but I remember only the berries, freedom
from school work, and opportunities for run
away rambles in the fields and along the wave-
beaten seashore.

An exciting time came when at the age of
seven or eight years I left the auld Davel Brae
school for the grammar school. Of course I
had a terrible lot of fighting to do, because a
new scholar had to meet every one of his age
who dared to challenge him, this being the
common introduction to a new school. It was
very strenuous for the first month or so, estab
lishing my fighting rank, taking up new studies,
especially Latin and French, getting acquainted
with new classmates and the master and his
rules. In the first few Lathi and French lessons
the new teacher, Mr. Lyon, blandly smiled at
our comical blunders, but pedagogical weather
of the severest kind quickly set in, when for
every mistake, everything short of perfection,
the taws was promptly applied. We had to
get three lessons every day in Lathi, three in
French, and as many in English, besides spell
ing, history, arithmetic, and geography. Word
lessons in particular, the wouldst-couldst-
26

A BOYHOOD IN SCOTLAND

shouldst-have-loved kind, were kept up, with
much warlike thrashing, until I had committed
the whole of the French, Latin, and English
grammars to memory, and in connection with
reading-lessons we were called on to recite
parts of them with the rules over and over
again, as if all the regular and irregular incom
prehensible verb stuff was poetry. In addition
to all this, father made me learn so many Bible
verses every day that by the time I was eleven
years of age I had about three fourths of the
Old Testament and all of the New by heart
and by sore flesh. I could recite the New
Testament from the beginning of Matthew to
the end of Revelation without a single stop.
The dangers of cramming and of making
scholars study at home instead of letting their
little brains rest were never heard of in those
days. We carried our school-books home in a
strap every night and committed to memory
our next day's lessons before we went to bed,
and to do that we had to bend our attention as
closely on our tasks as lawyers on great million-
dollar cases. I can't conceive of anything that
would now enable me to concentrate my atten
tion more fully than when I was a mere strip
ling boy, and it was all done by whipping, —
thrashing in general. Old-fashioned Scotch
teachers spent no tune in seeking short roads
27

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

to knowledge, or in trying any of the new
fangled psychological methods so much in
vogue nowadays. There was nothing said about
making the seats easy or the lessons easy. We
were simply driven pointblank against our
books like soldiers against the enemy, and
sternly ordered, " Up and at 'em. Commit your
lessons to memory!" If we failed in any part,
however slight, we were whipped; for the grand,
simple, all-sufficing Scotch discovery had been
made that there was a close connection be
tween the skin and the memory, and that irri
tating the skin excited the memory to any
required degree.

Fighting was carried on still more vigorously
in the high school than in the common school.
Whenever any one was challenged, either the
challenge was allowed or it was decided by a
battle on the seashore, where with stubborn
enthusiasm we battered each other as if we had
not been sufficiently battered by the teacher.
When we were so fortunate as to finish a fight
without getting a black eye, we usually escaped
a thrashing at home and another next morning
at school, for other traces of the fray could be
easily washed off at a well on the church brae,
or concealed, or passed as results of playground
accidents; but a black eye could never be ex
plained away from downright fighting. A good
28

A BOYHOOD IN SCOTLAND

double thrashing was the inevitable penalty,
but all without avail; fighting went on without
the slightest abatement, like natural storms;
for no punishment less than death could quench
the ancient inherited belligerence burning in
our pagan blood. Nor could we be made to
believe it was fair that father and teacher
should thrash us so industriously for our good,
while begrudging us the pleasure of thrashing
each other for our good. All these various
thrashings, however, were admirably influen
tial in developing not only memory but forti
tude as well. For if we did not endure our
school punishments and fighting pains without
flinching and making faces, we were mocked
on the playground, and public opinion on a
Scotch playground was a powerful agent in
controlling behavior; therefore we at length
managed to keep our features in smooth repose
while enduring pain that would try anybody
but an American Indian. Far from feeling that
we were called on to endure too much pain, one
of our playground games was thrashing each
other with whips about two feet long made
from the tough, wiry stems of a species of polyg-
onum fastened together in a stiff, firm braid.
One of us handing two of these whips to a com
panion to take his choice, we stood up close
together and thrashed each other on the legs

29

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

until one succumbed to the intolerable pain
and thus lost the game. Nearly all of our play
ground games were strenuous, — shin-battering
shinny, wrestling, prisoners' base, and dogs and
hares, — all augmenting in no slight degree our
lessons in fortitude. Moreover, we regarded
our punishments and pains of every sort as
training for war, since we were all going to be
soldiers. Besides single combats we sometimes
assembled on Saturdays to meet the scholars
of another school, and very little was required
for the growth of strained relations, and war.
The immediate cause might be nothing more
than a saucy stare. Perhaps the scholar stared
at would insolently inquire, "What are ye
glowerin' at, Bob?" Bob would reply, "I'll
look where I hae a mind and hinder me if ye
daur." "Weel, Bob," the outraged stared-at
scholar would reply, " I '11 soon let ye see whether
I daur or no! " and give Bob a blow on the face.
This opened the battle, and every good scholar
belonging to either school was drawn into it.
After both sides were sore and weary, a strong-
lunged warrior would be heard above the din
of battle shouting, "I'll tell ye what we '11 dae
wi' ye. If ye '11 let us alane we'll let ye alane!"
and the school war ended as most wars between
nations do; and some of them begin in much
the same way.

30

A BOYHOOD IN SCOTLAND

Notwithstanding the great number of harshly
enforced rules, not very good order was kept in
school in my time. There were two schools
within a few rods of each other, one for mathe
matics, navigation, etc., the other, called the
grammar school, that I attended. The masters
lived in a big freestone house within eight or
ten yards of the schools, so that they could
easily step out for anything they wanted or
send one of the scholars. The moment our
master disappeared, perhaps for a book or a
drink, every scholar left his seat and his lessons,
jumped on top of the benches and desks or
crawled beneath them, tugging, rolling, wres
tling, accomplishing in a minute a depth of
disorder and din unbelievable save by a Scot
tish scholar. We even carried on war, class
against class, in those wild, precious minutes.
A watcher gave the alarm when the master
opened his house-door to return, and it was a
great feat to get into our places before he
entered, adorned in awful majestic authority,
shouting " Silence!" and striking resounding
blows with his cane on a desk or on some un
fortunate scholar's back.

Forty-seven years after leaving this fighting
school, I returned on a visit to Scotland, and a
cousin in Dunbar introduced me to a minister
who was acquainted with the history of the

31

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

school, and obtained for me an invitation to
dine with the new master. Of course I gladly
accepted, for I wanted to see the old place of
fun and pain, and the battleground on the
sands. Mr. Lyon, our able teacher and thrasher,
I learned, had held his place as master of the
school for twenty or thirty years after I left it,
and had recently died in London, after prepar
ing many young men for the English Univer
sities. At the dinner-table, while I was recalling
the amusements and fights of my old school
days, the minister remarked to the new master,
"Now, don't you wish that you had been
teacher in those days, and gained the honor
of walloping John Muir?" This pleasure so
merrily suggested showed that the minister
also had been a fighter in his youth. The old
freestone school building was still perfectly
sound, but the carved, ink-stained desks were
almost whittled away.

The highest part of our playground back of
the school commanded a view of the sea, and
we loved to watch the passing ships and, judg
ing by their rigging, make guesses as to the
ports they had sailed from, those to which they
were bound, what they were loaded with, their
tonnage, etc. In stormy weather they were all
smothered in clouds and spray, and showers of
salt scud torn from the tops of the waves came

32

A BOYHOOD IN SCOTLAND

flying over the playground wall. In those tre
mendous storms many a brave ship foundered
or was tossed and smashed on the rocky shore.
When a wreck occurred within a mile or two of
the town, we often managed by running fast
to reach it and pick up some of the spoils. In
particular I remember visiting the battered
fragments of an unfortunate brig or schooner
that had been loaded with apples, and finding
fine unpitiful sport in rushing into the spent
waves and picking up the red-cheeked fruit
from the frothy, seething foam.

All our school-books were extravagantly illus
trated with drawings of every kind of sailing-
vessel, and every boy owned some sort of craft
whittled from a block of wood and trimmed
with infinite pains, — sloops, schooners, brigs,
and full-rigged ships, with their sails and string
ropes properly adjusted and named for us by
some old sailor. These precious toy craft with
lead keels we learned to sail on a pond near the
town. With the sails set at the proper angle to
the wind, they made fast straight voyages
across the pond to boys on the other side, who
readjusted the sails and started them back on
the return voyages. Oftentimes fleets of half a
dozen or more were started together in exciting
races.

Our most exciting sport, however, was play-
33

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

ing with gunpowder. We made guns out of
gas-pipe, mounted them on sticks of any shape,
clubbed our pennies together for powder,
gleaned pieces of lead here and there and cut
them into slugs, and, while one aimed, another
applied a match to the touch-hole. With these
awful weapons we wandered along the beach
and fired at the gulls and solan-geese as they
passed us. Fortunately we never hurt any of
them that we knew of. We also dug holes hi the
ground, put in a handful or two of powder,
tamped it well around a fuse made of a wheat-
stalk, and, reaching cautiously forward, touched
a match to the straw. This we called making
earthquakes. Oftentimes we went home with
singed hah- and faces well peppered with pow
der-grains that could not be washed out. Then,
of course, came a correspondingly severe pun
ishment from both father and teacher.

Another favorite sport was climbing trees
and scaling garden-walls. Boys eight or ten
years of age could get over almost any wall
by standing on each other's shoulders, thus
making living ladders. To make walls secure
against marauders, many of them were finished
on top with broken bottles imbedded in lime,
leaving the cutting edges sticking up; but with
bunches of grass and weeds we could sit or stand
in comfort on top of the jaggedest of them.
34

A BOYHOOD IN SCOTLAND

Like squirrels that begin to eat nuts before
they are ripe, we began to eat apples about
as soon as they were formed, causing, of course,
desperate gastric disturbances to be cured by
castor oil. Serious were the risks we ran in
climbing and squeezing through hedges, and,
of course, among the country folk we were far
from welcome. Farmers passing us on the roads
often shouted by way of greeting: "Oh, you
vagabonds! Back to the toon wi' ye. Gang
back where ye belang. You're up to mischief,
Ise warrant. I can see it. The gamekeeper '11
catch ye, and maist like ye '11 a' be hanged some
day."

Breakfast in those auld-lang-syne days was
simple oatmeal porridge, usually with a little
milk or treacle, served in wooden dishes called
"luggies," formed of staves hooped together
like miniature tubs about four or five inches in
diameter. One of the staves, the lug or ear, a
few inches longer than the others, served as a
handle, while the number of luggies ranged in
a row on a dresser indicated the size of the fam
ily. We never dreamed of anything to come
after the porridge, or of asking for more. Our
portions were consumed in about a couple of
minutes; then off to school. At noon we came
racing home ravenously hungry. The midday
meal, called dinner, was usually vegetable
35

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

broth, a small piece of boiled mutton, and
barley-meal scone. None of us liked the bar
ley scone bread, therefore we got all we wanted
of it, and in desperation had to eat it, for we
were always hungry, about as hungry after as
before meals. The evening meal was called
"tea" and was served on our return from
school. It consisted, as far as we children were
concerned, of half a slice of white bread without
butter, barley scone, and warm water with a
little milk and sugar in it, a beverage called
" content," which warmed but neither cheered
nor inebriated. Immediately after tea we ran
across the street with our books to Grandfather
Gilrye, who took pleasure in seeing us and hear
ing us recite our next day's lessons. Then back
home to supper, usually a boiled potato and
piece of barley scone. Then family worship,
and to bed.

Our amusements on Saturday afternoons
and vacations depended mostly on getting
away from home into the country, especially
in the spring when the birds were calling
loudest. Father sternly forbade David and me
from playing truant in the fields with plunder
ing wanderers like ourselves, fearing we might
go on from bad to worse, get hurt in climbing
over walls, caught by gamekeepers, or lost by
falling over a cliff into the sea. "Play as much
36

A BOYHOOD IN SCOTLAND

as you like in the back yard and garden," he
said, "and mind what you'll get when you
forget and disobey." Thus he warned us with
an awfully stern countenance, looking very
hard-hearted', while naturally his heart was
far from hard, though he devoutly believed in
eternal punishment for bad boys both here
and hereafter. Nevertheless, like devout mar
tyrs of wildness, we stole away to the seashore
or the green, sunny fields with almost religious
regularity, taking advantage of opportunities
when father was very busy, to join our com
panions, oftenest to hear the birds sing and
hunt their nests, glorying in the number we
had discovered and called our own. A sample
of our nest chatter was something like this:
Willie Chisholm would proudly exclaim — "I
ken [know] seventeen nests, and you, Johnnie,
ken only fifteen."

"But I wouldna gie my fifteen for your sev
enteen, for five of mine are larks and mavises.
You ken only three o' the best singers."

"Yes, Johnnie, but I ken six goldies and you
ken only one. Maist of yours are only sparrows
and Unties and robin-redbreasts."

Then perhaps Bob Richardson would loudly

declare that he "kenned mair nests than ony-

body, for he kenned twenty-three, with about

fifty eggs in them and mair than fifty young

37

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

birds — maybe a hundred. Some of them
naething but raw gorblings but lots of them as
big as their mithers and ready to flee. And
aboot fifty craw's nests and three fox dens."

"Oh, yes, Bob, but that's no fair, for nae-
body counts craw's nests and fox holes, and
then you live in the country at Belle-haven
where ye have the best chance."

"Yes, but I ken a lot of bumbee's nests,
baith the red-legged and the yellow-legged
kind."

"Oh, wha cares for bumbee's nests!"

"Weel, but here's something! Ma father let
me gang to a fox hunt, and man, it was grand
to see the hounds and the lang-legged horses
lowpin the dykes and burns and hedges!"

The nests, I fear, with the beautiful eggs and
young birds, were prized quite as highly as the
songs of the glad parents, but no Scotch boy
that I know of ever failed to listen with enthu
siasm to the songs of the skylarks. Oftentimes
on a broad meadow near Dunbar we stood for
hours enjoying their marvelous singing and
soaring. From the grass where the nest was
hidden the male would suddenly rise, as straight
as if shot up, to a height of perhaps thirty or
forty feet, and, sustaining himself with rapid
wing-beats, pour down the most delicious
melody, sweet and clear and strong, overflow-

38

A BOYHOOD IN SCOTLAND

ing all bounds, then suddenly he would soar
higher again and again, ever higher and higher,
soaring and singing until lost to sight even on
perfectly clear days, and oftentimes in cloudy
weather "far in the downy cloud," as the poet
says.

To test our eyes we often watched a lark
until he seemed a faint speck in the sky and
finally passed beyond the keenest-sighted of
us all. "I see him yet!" we would cry, "I see
him yet!" "I see him yet!" "I see him yet!"
as he soared. And finally only one of us would
be left to claim that he still saw him. At last
he, too, would have to admit that the singer
had soared beyond his sight, and still the music
came pouring down to us in glorious profusion,
from a height far above our vision, requiring
marvelous power of wing and marvelous power
of voice, for that rich, delicious, soft, and yet
clear music was distinctly heard long after the
bird was out of sight. Then, suddenly ceasing,
the glorious singer would appear, falling like a
bolt straight down to his nest, where his mate
was sitting on the eggs.

It was far too common a practice among us
to carry off a young lark just before it could
fly, place it in a cage, and fondly, laboriously
feed it. Sometimes we succeeded in keeping
one alive for a year or two, and when awakened
39

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

by the spring weather it was pitiful to see the
quivering imprisoned soarer of the heavens
rapidly beating its wings and singing as though
it were flying and hovering in the air like its
parents. To keep it in health we were taught
that we must supply it with a sod of grass the
size of the bottom of the cage, to make the
poor bird feel as though it were at home on its
native meadow, — a meadow perhaps a foot
or at most two feet square. Again and again
it would try to hover over that miniature
meadow from its miniature sky just under
neath the top of the cage. At last, conscience-
stricken, we carried the beloved prisoner to
the meadow west of Dunbar where it was born,
and, blessing its sweet heart, bravely set it
free, and our exceeding great reward was to see
it fly and sing in the sky.

In the winter, when there was but little doing
in the fields, we organized running-matches.
A dozen or so of us would start out on races
that were simply tests of endurance, running
on and on along a public road over the breezy
hills like hounds, without stopping or getting
tired. The only serious trouble we ever felt in
these long races was an occasional stitch in our
sides. One of the boys started the story that
sucking raw eggs was a sure cure for the
stitches. We had hens in our back yard, and

40

A BOYHOOD IN SCOTLAND

on the next Saturday we managed to swallow
a couple of eggs apiece, a disgusting job, but
we would do almost anything to mend our
speed, and as soon as we could get away after
taking the cure we set out on a ten or twenty
mile run to prove its worth. We thought
nothing of running right ahead ten or a dozen
miles before turning back; for we knew nothing
about taking time by the sun, and none of us
had a watch in those days. Indeed, we never
cared about time until it began to get dark.
Then we thought of home and the thrashing
that awaited us. Late or early, the thrashing
was sure, unless father happened to be away.
If he was expected to return soon, mother made
haste to get us to bed before his arrival. We
escaped the thrashing next morning, for father
never felt like thrashing us in cold blood on the
calm holy Sabbath. But no punishment, how
ever sure and severe, was of any avail against
the attraction of the fields and woods. It had
other uses, developing memory, etc., but in
keeping us at home it was of no use at all.
Wildness was ever sounding in our ears, and
Nature saw to it that besides school lessons and
church lessons some of her own lessons should
be learned, perhaps with a view to the time
when we should be called to wander in wildness
to our heart's content. Oh, the blessed en-
41

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

chantment of those Saturday runaways in the
prime of the spring! How our young wondering
eyes reveled in the sunny, breezy glory of the
hills and the sky, every particle of us thrilling
and tingling with the bees and glad birds and
glad streams! Kings may be blessed; we were
glorious, we were free, — school cares and
scoldings, heart thrashings and flesh thrashings
alike, were forgotten in the fullness of Nature's
glad wildness. These were my first excursions,
— the beginnings of lifelong wanderings.

CHAPTER II

A NEW WORLD

OUR grammar-school reader, called, I think,
" Maccoulough's Course of Reading," con
tained a few natural-history sketches that
excited me very much and left a deep impres
sion, especially a fine description of the fish
hawk and the bald eagle by the Scotch or
nithologist Wilson, who had the good fortune
to wander for years in the American woods
while the country was yet mostly wild. I read
his description over and over again, till I got
the vivid picture he drew by heart, — the long-
winged hawk circling over the heaving waves,
every motion watched by the eagle perched on
the top of a crag or dead tree; the fish hawk
poising for a moment to take aim at a fish and
plunging under the water; the eagle with kin
dling eye spreading his wings ready for instant
flight in case the attack should prove success
ful; the hawk emerging with a struggling fish in
his talons, and proud flight; the eagle launching
himself in pursuit; the wonderful wing-work in
the sky, the fish hawk, though encumbered with
his prey, circling higher, higher, striving hard to
keep above the robber eagle ; the eagle at length
43

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

soaring above him, compelling him with a cry
of despair to drop his hard-won prey; then the
eagle steadying himself for a moment to take
aim, descending swift as a lightning-bolt, and
seizing the falling fish before it reached the sea.

Not less exciting and memorable was Audu-
bon's wonderful story of the passenger pigeon,
a beautiful bird flying in vast flocks that dark
ened the sky like clouds, countless millions
assembling to rest and sleep and rear their
young in certain forests, miles in length and
breadth, fifty or a hundred nests on a single
tree; the overloaded branches bending low and
often breaking; the farmers gathering from far
and near, beating down countless thousands of
the young and old birds from their nests and
roosts with long poles at night, and in the
morning driving their bands of hogs, some of
them brought from farms a hundred miles
distant, to fatten on the dead and wounded
covering the ground.

In another of our reading-lessons some of the
American forests were described. The most
interesting of the trees to us boys was the sugar
maple, and soon after we had learned this sweet
story we heard everybody talking about the
discovery of gold in the same wonder-filled
country.

One night, when David and I were at grand-
44

A NEW WORLD

father's fireside solemnly learning our lessons
as usual, my father came in with news, the
most wonderful, most glorious, that wild boys
ever heard. " Bairns," he said, "you needna
learn your lessons the nicht, for we're gan to
America the morn!" No more grammar, but
boundless woods full of mysterious good things;
trees full of sugar, growing in ground full of
gold; hawks, eagles, pigeons, filling the sky;
millions of birds' nests, and no gamekeepers to
stop us in all the wild, happy land. We were
utterly, blindly glorious. After father left the
room, grandfather gave David and me a gold
coin apiece for a keepsake, and looked very
serious, for he was about to be deserted in his
lonely old age. And when we in fullness of
young joy spoke of what we were going to do,
of the wonderful birds and their nests that
we should find, the sugar and gold, etc., and
promised to send him a big box full of that tree
sugar packed in gold from the glorious paradise
over the sea, poor lonely grandfather, about to
be forsaken, looked with downcast eyes on the
floor and said in a low, trembling, troubled
voice, "Ah, poor laddies, poor laddies, you'll
find something else ower the sea forbye gold
and sugar, birds' nests and freedom fra lessons
and schools. You'll find plenty hard, hard
work." And so we did. But nothing he could
45

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

say could cloud our joy or abate the fire of
youthful, hopeful, fearless adventure. Nor
could we in the midst of such measureless
excitement see or feel the shadows and sorrows
of his darkening old age. To my schoolmates,
met that night on the street, I shouted the
glorious news, "I'm gan to Amaraka the
morn!" None could believe it. I said, "Weel,
just you see if I am at the skule the mom!"

Next morning we went by rail to Glasgow
and thence joyfully sailed away from beloved
Scotland, flying to our fortunes on the wings of
the winds, care-free as thistle seeds. We could
not then know what we were leaving, what we
were to encounter in the New World, nor what
our gains were likely to be. We were too young
and full of hope for fear or regret, but not too
young to look forward with eager enthusiasm
to the wonderful schoolless bookless American
wilderness. Even the natural heart-pain of
parting from grandfather and grandmother
Gilrye, who loved us so well, and from mother
and sisters and brother, was quickly quenched
in young joy. Father took with him only
my sister Sarah (thirteen years of age), myself
(eleven), and brother David (nine), leaving my
eldest sister, Margaret, and the three youngest
of the family, Daniel, Mary, and Anna, with
mother, to join us after a farm had been found

46

A NEW WORLD

in the wilderness and a comfortable house made
to receive them.

In crossing the Atlantic before the days of
steamships, or even the American clippers, the
voyages made in old-fashioned sailing-vessels
were very long. Ours was six weeks and three
days. But because we had no lessons to get,
that long voyage had not a dull moment for us
boys. Father and sister Sarah, with most of
the old folk, stayed below in rough weather,
groaning in the miseries of seasickness, many
of the passengers wishing they had never ven
tured in "the auld rockin' creel/ ' as they called
our bluff-bowed, wave-beating ship, and, when
the weather was moderately calm, singing songs
in the evenings, — "The Youthful Sailor Frank
and Bold/' "Oh, why left I my hame, why did
I cross the deep," etc. But no matter how
much the old tub tossed about and battered
the waves, we were on deck every day, not in
the least seasick, watching the sailors at their
rope-hauling and climbing work; joining in
their songs, learning the names of the ropes
and sails, and helping them as far as they would
let us; playing games with other boys in calm
weather when the deck was dry, and in stormy
weather rejoicing in sympathy with the big
curly-topped waves.

The captain occasionally called David and

47

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

me into his cabin and asked us about our
schools, handed us books to read, and seemed
surprised to find that Scotch boys could read
and pronounce English with perfect accent and
knew so much Latin aftd French. In Scotch
schools only pure English was taught, although
not a word of English was spoken out of school.
All through life, however well educated, the
Scotch spoke Scotch among their own folk, ex
cept at times when unduly excited on the only
two subjects on which Scotchmen get much
excited, namely, religion and politics. So long
as the controversy went on with fairly level
temper, only gude braid Scots was used, but if
one became angry, as was likely to happen,
then he immediately began speaking severely
correct English, while his antagonist, drawing
himself up, would say: "Weel, there's na use
pursuing this subject ony further, for I see ye
hae gotten to your English."

As we neared the shore of the great new land,
with what eager wonder we watched the whales
and dolphins and porpoises and seabirds, and
made the good-natured sailors teach us their
names and tell us stories about them!

There were quite a large number of emigrants
aboard, many of them newly married couples,
and the advantages of the different parts of
the New World they expected to settle in were

48

A NEW WORLD

often discussed. My father started with the
intention of going to the backwoods of Upper
Canada. Before the end of the voyage, how
ever, he was persuaded that the States offered
superior advantages, especially Wisconsin and
Michigan, where the land was said to be as
good as in Canada and far more easily brought
under cultivation; for in Canada the woods
were so close and heavy that a man might wear
out his life in getting a few acres cleared of trees
and stumps. So he changed his mind and con
cluded to go to one of the Western States.

On our wavering westward way a grain-
dealer in Buffalo told father that most of the
wheat he handled came from Wisconsin; and
this influential information finally determined
my father's choice. At Milwaukee a farmer
who had come in from the country near Fort
Winnebago with a load of wheat agreed to haul
us and our formidable load of stuff to a little
town called Kingston for thirty dollars. On
that hundred-mile journey, just after the spring
thaw, the roads over the prairies were heavy
and miry, causing no end of lamentation, for we
often got stuck in the mud, and the poor farmer
sadly declared that never, never again would
he be tempted to try to haul such a cruel,
heart-breaking, wagon-breaking, horse-killing
load, no, not for a hundred dollars. In leaving

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

Scotland, father, like many other home-seek
ers, burdened himself with far too much lug
gage, as if all America were still a wilderness
in which little or nothing could be bought. One
of his big iron-bound boxes must have weighed
about four hundred pounds, for it contained an
old-fashioned beam-scales with a complete set
of cast-iron counterweights, two of them fifty-
six pounds each, a twenty-eight, and so on down
to a single pound. Also a lot of iron wedges,
carpenter's tools, and so forth, and at Buf
falo, as if on the very edge of the wilderness,
he gladly added to his burden a big cast-iron
stove with pots and pans, provisions enough
for a long siege, and a scythe and cumbersome
cradle for cutting wheat, all of which he suc
ceeded in landing in the primeval Wisconsin
woods.

A land-agent at Kingston gave father a
note to a farmer by the name of Alexander
Gray, who lived on the border of the settled
part of the country, knew the section-lines,
and would probably help him to find a good
place for a farm. So father went away to spy
out the land, and in the mean time left us chil
dren in Kingston in a rented room. It took us
less than an hour to get acquainted with some
of the boys in the village; we challenged them
to wrestle, run races, climb trees, etc., and in a
50

A NEW WORLD

day or two we felt at home, care-free and happy,
notwithstanding our family was so widely
divided. When father returned he told us that
he had found fine land for a farm in sunny
open woods on the side of a lake, and that a
team of three yoke of oxen with a big wagon
was coming to haul us to Mr. Cray's place.

We enjoyed the strange ten-mile ride through
the woods very much, wondering how the
great oxen could be so strong and wise and tnme
as to pull so heavy a load with no other harness
than a chain and a crooked piece of wood on
their necks, and how they could sway so obedi
ently to right and left past roadside trees arid
stumps when the driver said haw and gee. At
Mr. Gray's house, father again left us for a
few days to build a shanty on the quarter-
section he had selected four or five miles to the
westward. In the mean while we enjoyed our
freedom as usual, wandering in the fields and
meadows, looking at the trees and flowers,
snakes and birds and squirrels. With the help
of the nearest neighbors the little shanty was
built in less than a day after the rough bur-oak
logs for the walls and the white-oak boards for
the floor and roof were got together.

To this charming hut, in the sunny woods,
overlooking a flowery glacier meadow and a
lake rimmed with white water-lilies, we were
51

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

hauled by an ox-team across trackless carex
swamps and low rolling hills sparsely dotted
with round-headed oaks. Just as we arrived
at the shanty, before we had time to look at it
or the scenery about it, David and I jumped
down in a hurry off the load of household goods,
for we had discovered a blue jay's nest, and in
a minute or so we were up the tree beside it,
feasting our eyes on the beautiful green eggs
and beautiful birds, — our first memorable
discovery. The handsome birds had not seen
Scotch boys before and made a desperate
screaming as if we were robbers like themselves,
though we left the eggs untouched, feeling that
we were already beginning to get rich, and
wondering how many more nests we should find
in the grand sunny woods. Then we ran along
the brow of the hill that the shanty stood on,
and down to the meadow, searching the trees
and grass tufts and bushes, and soon discovered
a bluebird's and a woodpecker's nest, and be
gan an acquaintance with the frogs and snakes
and turtles in the creeks and springs.

This sudden plash into pure wildness -
baptism in Nature's warm heart — how utterly
happy it made us! Nature streaming into
us, wooingly teaching her wonderful glowing
lessons, so unlike the dismal grammar ashes
and cinders so long thrashed into us. Here
52

SB -
< £

1 I

*-" "

W -^

^ ^

A NEW WORLD

without knowing it we still were at school;
every wild lesson a love lesson, not whipped but
charmed into us. Oh, that glorious Wisconsin
wilderness! Everything new and pure in the
very prime of the spring when Nature's pulses
were beating highest and mysteriously keeping
time with our own! Young hearts, young leaves,
flowers, animals, the winds and the streams and
the sparkling lake, all wildly, gladly rejoicing
together!

Next morning, when we climbed to the pre
cious jay nest to take another admiring look
at the eggs, we found it empty. Not a shell-
fragment was left, and we wondered how in
the world the birds were able to carry off their
thin-shelled eggs either in their bills or in their
feet without breaking them, and how they could
be kept warm while a new nest was being built.
Well, I am still asking these questions. When
I was on the Harriman Expedition I asked
Robert Ridgway, the eminent ornithologist,
how these sudden flittings were accomplished,
and he frankly confessed that he did n't know,
but guessed that jays and many other birds
carried their eggs in their mouths; and when I
objected that a jay's- mouth seemed too small
to hold its eggs, he replied that birds' mouths
were larger than the narrowness of their bills
indicated. Then I asked him what he thought
53

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

they did with the eggs while a new nest was
being prepared. He did n't know; neither do I
to this day. A specimen of the many puzzling
problems presented to the naturalist.

We soon found many more nests belonging
to birds that were not half so suspicious. The
handsome and notorious blue jay plunders the
nests of other birds and of course he could
not trust us. Almost all the others — brown
thrushes, bluebirds, song sparrows, kingbirds,
hen-hawks, nighthawks, whip-poor-wills, wood
peckers, etc. — simply tried to avoid being
seen, to draw or drive us away, or paid no
attention to us.

We used to wonder how the woodpeckers
could bore holes so perfectly round, true mathe
matical circles. We ourselves could not have
done it even with gouges and chisels. We loved
to watch them feeding their young, and won
dered how they could glean food enough for so
many clamorous, hungry, unsatisfiable babies,
and how they managed to give each one its
share; for after the young grew strong, one
would get his head out of the door-hole and try
to hold possession of it to meet* the food-laden
parents. How hard they worked to support
their families, especially the red-headed and
speckledy woodpeckers and flickers; digging,
hammering on scaly bark and decaying trunks
54

A NEW WORLD

and branches from dawn to dark, coming and
going at intervals of a few minutes all the live
long day!

We discovered a hen-hawk's nest on the top
of a tall oak thirty or forty rods from the shanty
and approached it cautiously. One of the pah1
always kept watch, soaring in wide circles high
above the tree, and when we attempted to
climb it, the big dangerous-looking bird came
swooping down at us and drove us away.

We greatly admired the plucky kingbird. In
Scotland our great ambition was to be good
fighters, and we admired this quality in the
handsome little chattering flycatcher that whips
all the other birds. He was particularly angry
when plundering jays and hawks came near
his home, and took pains to thrash them not
only away from the nest-tree but out of the
neighborhood. The nest was usually built on
a bur oak near a meadow where insects were
abundant, and where no undesirable visitor
could approach without being discovered.
When a hen-hawk hove in sight, the male
immediately set off after him, and it was ridic
ulous to see that great, strong bird hurrying
away as fast as his clumsy wings would carry
him, as soon as he saw the little, waspish king
bird coming. But the kingbird easily overtook
him, flew just a few feet above him, and with
55

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

a lot of chattering, scolding notes kept diving
and striking him on the back of the head until
tired; then he alighted to rest on the hawk's
broad shoulders, still scolding and chattering
as he rode along, like an angry boy pouring out
vials of wrath. Then, up and at him again
with his sharp bill; and after he had thus driven
and ridden his big enemy a mile or so from the
nest, he went home to his mate, chuckling and
bragging as if trying to tell her what a wonder
ful fellow he was.

This first spring, while some of the birds
were still building their nests and very few
young ones had yet tried to fly, father hired
a Yankee to assist in clearing eight or ten acres
of the best ground for a field. We found new
wonders every day and often had to call on
this Yankee to solve puzzling questions. We
asked him one day if there was any bird in
America that the kingbird couldn't whip.
What about the sandhill crane? Could he whip
that long-legged, long-billed fellow?

"A crane never goes near kingbirds' nests or
notices so small a bird," he said, "and therefore
there could be no fighting between them." So
we hastily concluded that our hero could whip
every bird in the country except perhaps the
sandhill crane.

We never tired listening to the wonderful

56

A NEW WORLD

whip-poor-will. One came every night about
dusk and sat on a log about twenty or thirty
feet from our cabin door and began shouting
"Whip poor Will! Whip poor Will!" with loud
emphatic earnestness. " What's that? What's
that?" we cried when this startling visitor first
announced himself. "What do you call it?"

"Why, it's telling you its name," said the
Yankee. "Pon't you hear it and what he
wants you to do? He says his name is 'Poor
Will' and he wants you to whip him, and you
may if you are able to catch him." Poor Will
seemed the most wonderful of all the strange
creatures we had seen. What a wild, strong,
bold voice he had, unlike any other we had ever
heard on sea or land!

A near relative, the bull-bat, or nighthawk,
seemed hardly less wonderful. Towards eve
ning scattered flocks kept the sky lively as they
circled around on their long wings a hundred
feet or more above the ground, hunting moths
and beetles, interrupting their rather slow but
strong, regular wing-beats at short intervals
with quick quivering strokes while uttering
keen, squeaky cries something like pfee, pfee,
and every now and then diving nearly to the
ground with a loud ripping, bellowing sound,
like bull-roaring, suggesting its name ; then turn
ing and gliding swiftly up again. These fine wild
57

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

gray birds, about the size of a pigeon, lay their
two eggs on bare ground without anything like
a nest or even a concealing bush or grass-tuft.
Nevertheless they are not easily seen, for they
are colored like the ground. While sitting on
their eggs, they depend so much upon not being
noticed that if you are walking rapidly ahead
they allow you to step within an inch or two
of them without flinching. But if they see by
your looks that you have discovered them, they
leave their eggs or young, and, like a good
many other birds, pretend that they are sorely
wounded, fluttering and rolling over on the
ground and gasping as if dying, to draw you
away. When pursued we were surprised to find
that just when we were on the point of over
taking them they were always able to flutter
a few yards farther, until they had led us about
a quarter of a mile from the nest; then, sud
denly getting well, they quietly flew home by
a roundabout way to their precious babies or
eggs, o'er a' the ills of life victorious, bad boys
among the worst. The Yankee took particular
pleasure in encouraging us to pursue them.

Everything about us was so novel and won
derful that we could hardly believe our senses
except when hungry or while father was thrash
ing us. When we first saw Fountain Lake
Meadow, on a sultry evening, sprinkled with
58

A NEW WORLD

millions of lightning-bugs throbbing with light,
the effect was so strange and beautiful that it
seemed far too marvelous to be real. Looking
from our shanty on the hill, I thought that
the whole wonderful fairy show must be in my
eyes; for only in fighting, when my eyes were
struck, had I ever seen anything in the least
like it. But when I asked my brother if he saw
anything strange in the meadow he said, " Yes,
it's all covered with shaky fire-sparks." Then
I guessed that it might be something outside
of us, and applied to our all-knowing Yankee
to explain it. "Oh, it's nothing but lightnin'-
bugs," he said, and kindly led us down the hill
to the edge of the fiery meadow, caught a few
of the wonderful bugs, dropped them into a
cup, and carried them to the shanty, where we
watched them throbbing and flashing out their
mysterious light at regular intervals, as if each
little passionate glow were caused by the beat
ing of a heart. Once I saw a splendid display
of glow-worm light in the foothills of the Him
alayas, north of Calcutta, but glorious as it
appeared in pure starry radiance, it was far
less impressive than the extravagant abound
ing, quivering, dancing fire on our Wisconsin
meadow.

Partridge drumming was another great mar
vel. When I first heard the low, soft, solemn

59

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

sound I thought it must be made by some
strange disturbance in my head or stomach,
but as all seemed serene within, I asked David
whether he heard anything queer. "Yes," he
said, "I hear something saying boomp, boomp,
boomp, and I'm wondering at it." Then I was
half satisfied that the source of the mysterious
sound must be in something outside of us, com
ing perhaps from the ground or from some
ghost or bogie or woodland fairy. Only after
long watching and listening did we at last
discover it in the wings of the plump brown
bird.

The love-song of the common jack snipe
seemed not a whit less mysterious than par
tridge drumming. It was usually heard on
cloudy evenings, a strange, unearthly, winnow
ing, spiritlike sound, yet easily heard at a dis
tance of a third of a mile. Our sharp eyes soon
detected the bird while making it, as it circled
high in the air over the meadow with wonder
fully strong and rapid wing-beats, suddenly
descending and rising, again and again, in
deep, wide loops; the tones being very low and
smooth at the beginning of the descent, rapidly
increasing to a curious little whirling storm-
roar at the bottom, and gradually fading lower
and lower until the top was reached. It was
long, however, before we identified this mysteri-
60

A NEW WORLD

out wing-singer as the little brown jack snipe
that we knew so well and had so often watched
as he silently probed the mud around the edge
of our meadow stream and spring-holes, and
made short zigzag flights over the grass utter
ing only little short, crisp quacks and chucks.

The love-songs of the frogs seemed hardly
less wonderful than those of the birds, their
musical notes varying from the sweet, tranquil,
soothing peeping and purring of the hylas to the
awfully deep low-bass blunt bellowing of the
bullfrogs. Some of the smaller species have
wonderfully clear, sharp voices and told us
their good Bible names in musical tones about
as plainly as the whip-poor-will. Isaac, Isaac ;
Yacob, Yacob; Israel, Israel; shouted in sharp,
ringing, far-reaching tones, as if they had all
been to school and severely drilled in elocution.
In the still, warm evenings, big bunchy bull
frogs bellowed, Drunk! Drunk! Drunk! Jug o'
rum! Jug o' rum ! and early in the spring, count
less thousands of the commonest species, up to
the throat in cold water, sang in concert, mak
ing a mass of music, such as it was, loud enough
to be heard at a distance of more than half a
mile.

Far, far apart from this loud marsh music is
that of the many species of hyla, a sort of sooth
ing immortal melody filling the ah- like light.
61

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

We reveled in the glory of the sky scenery as
well as that of the woods and meadows and
rushy, lily-bordered lakes. The great thunder
storms in particular interested us, so unlike
any seen hi Scotland, exciting awful, wondering
admiration. Gazing awe-stricken, we watched
the upbuilding of the sublime cloud-mountains,
-glowing, sun-beaten pearl and alabaster
cumuli, glorious hi beauty and majesty and
looking so firm and lasting that birds, we
thought, might build their nests amid their
downy bosses; the black-browed storm-clouds
marching in awful grandeur across the land
scape, trailing broad gray sheets of hail and
rain like vast cataracts, and ever and anon
flashing down vivid zigzag lightning followed
by terrible crashing thunder. We saw several
trees shattered, and one of them, a punky old
oak, was set on fire, while we wondered why all
the trees and everybody and everything did
not share the same fate, for oftentimes the
whole sky blazed. After sultry storm days,
many of the nights were darkened by smooth
black apparently structureless cloud-mantles
which at short intervals were illumined with
startling suddenness to a fiery glow by quick,
quivering lightning-flashes, revealing the land
scape in almost noonday brightness, to be in
stantly quenched in solid blackness.

62

A NEW WORLD

But those first days and weeks of unmixed
enjoyment and freedom, reveling in the won
derful wildness about us, were soon to be min
gled with the hard work of making a farm. I
was first put to burning brush in clearing land
for the plough. Those magnificent brush fires
with great white hearts and red flames, the
first big, wild outdoor fires I had ever seen,
were wonderful sights for young eyes. Again
and again, when they were burning fiercest so
that we could hardly approach near enough to
throw on another branch, father put them to
awfully practical use as warning lessons, com
paring their heat with that of hell, and the
branches with bad boys. "Now, John," he
would say, — "now, John, just think what an
awful thing it would be to be thrown into that
fire: — and then think of hell-fire, that is so
many times hotter. Into that fire all bad boys,
with sinners of every sort who disobey God, will
be cast as we are casting branches into this
brush fire, and although suffering so much,
their sufferings will never, never end, because
neither the fire nor the sinners can die." But
those terrible fire lessons quickly faded away
in the blithe wilderness air; for no fire can be
hotter than the heavenly fire of faith and hope
that burns in every healthy boy's heart.

Soon after our arrival in the woods some one

63

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

added a cat and puppy to the animals father
had bought. The cat soon had kittens, and it
was interesting to watch her feeding, protect
ing, and training them. After they were able
to leave their nest and play, she went out hunt
ing and brought in many kinds of birds and
squirrels for them, mostly ground squirrels
(spermophiles), called " gophers " in Wisconsin.
When she got within a dozen yards or so of
the shanty, she announced her approach by a
peculiar call, and the sleeping kittens immedi
ately bounced up and ran to meet her, all racing
for the first bite of they knew not what, and we
too ran to see what she brought. She then lay
down a few minutes to rest and enjoy the en
joyment of her feasting family, and again van
ished in the grass and flowers, coming and going
every half -hour or so. Sometimes she brought
in birds that we had never seen before, and
occasionally a flying squirrel, chipmunk, or
big fox squirrel. We were just old enough,
David and I, to regard all these creatures as
wonders, the strange inhabitants of our new
world.

The pup was a common cur, though very un
common to us, a black and white short-haired
mongrel that we named " Watch." We always
gave him a pan of milk in the evening just
before we knelt in family worship, while day-
64

A NEW WORLD

light still lingered in the shanty. And, instead
of attending to the prayers, I too often studied
the small wild creatures playing around us.
Field mice scampered about the cabin as
though it had been built for them alone, and
their performances were very amusing. About
dusk, on one of the calm, sultry nights so grate
ful to moths and beetles, when the puppy was
lapping his milk, and we were on our knees, in
through the door came a heavy broad-shoul
dered beetle about as big as a mouse, and after
it had droned and boomed round the cabin
two or three times, the pan of milk, showing
white in the gloaming, caught its eyes, and, tak
ing good aim, it alighted with a slanting, glint
ing plash in the middle of the pan like a duck
alighting in a lake. Baby Watch, having never
before seen anything like that beetle, started
back, gazing in dumb astonishment and fear
at the black sprawling monster trying to swim.
Recovering somewhat from his fright, he began
to bark at the creature, and ran round and round
his milk-pan, wouf-woufmg, gurring, growling,
like an old dog barking at a wild-cat or a bear.
The natural astonishment and curiosity of that
boy dog getting his first entomological lesson
in this wonderful world was so immoderately
funny that I had great difficulty in keeping
from laughing out loud.
65

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

Snapping turtles were common throughout
the woods, and we were delighted to find that
they would snap at a stick and hang on like
bull-dogs; and we amused ourselves by intro
ducing Watch to them, enjoying his curious
behavior and theirs in getting acquainted with
each other. One day we assisted one of the
smallest of the turtles to get a good grip of poor
Watch's ear. Then away he rushed, holding
his head sidewise, yelping and terror-stricken,
with the strange buglike reptile biting hard and
clinging fast — a shameful amusement even for
wild boys.

As a playmate Watch was too serious, though
he learned more than any stranger would judge
him capable of, was a bold, faithful watch-dog,
and in his prime a grand fighter, able to whip
all the other dogs in the neighborhood. Com
paring him with ourselves, we soon learned that
although he could not read books he could read
faces, was a good judge of character, always
knew what was going on and what we were
about to do, and liked to help us. We could
run nearly as fast as he could, see about as far,
and perhaps hear as well, but in sense of smell
his nose was incomparably better than ours.
One sharp winter morning when the ground
was covered with snow, I noticed that when he
was yawning and stretching himself after leav-

66

A NEW WORLD

ing his bed he suddenly caught the scent of
something that excited him, went round the
corner of the house, and looked intently to the
westward across a tongue of land that we called
West Bank, eagerly questioning the air with
quivering nostrils, and bristling up as though
he felt sure that there was something dangerous
in that direction and had actually caught sight
of it. Then he ran toward the Bank, and I fol
lowed him, curious to see what his nose had
discovered. The top of the Bank commanded
a view of the north end of our lake and meadow,
and when we got there we saw an Indian hunter
with a long spear, going from one muskrat
cabin to another, approaching cautiously, care
ful to make no noise, and then suddenly thrust
ing his spear down through the house. If well
aimed, the spear went through the poor beaver
rat as it lay cuddled up in the snug nest it had
made for itself in the fall with so much far-
seeing care, and when the hunter felt the spear
quivering, he dug down the mossy hut with his
tomahawk and secured his prey, — the flesh for
food, and the skin to sell for a dime or so. This
was a clear object lesson on dogs' keenness of
scent. That Indian was more than half a mile
away across a wooded ridge. Had the hunter
been a white man, I suppose Watch would not
have noticed him.

67

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

When he was about six or seven years old, he
not only became cross, so that he would do only
what he liked, but he fell on evil ways, and
was accused by the neighbors who had settled
around us of catching and devouring whole
broods of chickens, some of them only a day
or two out of the shell. We never imagined he
would do anything so grossly undoglike. He
never did at home. But several of the neigh
bors declared over and over again that they
had caught him in the act, and insisted that he
must be shot. At last, in spite of tearful pro
tests, he was condemned and executed. Father
examined the poor fellow's stomach in search
of sure evidence, and discovered the heads of
eight chickens that he had devoured at his last
meal. So poor Watch was killed simply be
cause his taste for chickens was too much like
our own. Think of the millions of squabs that
preaching, praying men and women kill and
eat, with all sorts of other animals great and
small, young and old, while eloquently dis
coursing on the coming of the blessed peaceful,
bloodless millennium! Think of the passenger
pigeons that fifty or sixty years ago filled the
woods and sky over half the continent, now
exterminated by beating down the young from
the nests together with the brooding parents,
before they could try their wonderful wings;
68

A NEW WORLD

by trapping them in nets, feeding them to
hogs, etc. None of our fellow mortals is safe
who eats what we eat, who in any way inter
feres with our pleasures, or who may be used
for work or food, clothing or ornament, or mere
cruel, sportish amusement. Fortunately many
are too small to be seen, and therefore enjoy
life beyond our reach. And in looking through
God's great stone books made up of records
reaching back millions and millions of years,
it is a great comfort to learn that vast multi
tudes of creatures, great and small and infinite
in number, lived and had a good time in God's
love before man was created.

The old Scotch fashion of whipping for every
act of disobedience or of simple, playful forget-
fulness was still kept up in the wilderness, and
of course many of those whippings fell upon me.
Most of them were outrageously severe, and
utterly barren of fun. But here is one that was
nearly all fun.

Father was busy hauling lumber for the frame
house that was to be got ready for the arrival
of my mother, sisters, and brother, left behind
in Scotland. One morning, when he was ready
to start for another load, his ox-whip was not
to be found. He asked me if I knew anything
about it. I told him I did n't know where it
was, but Scotch conscience compelled me to

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

confess that when I was playing with it I had
tied it to Watch's tail, and that he ran away,
dragging it through the grass, and came back
without it. "It must have slipped off his tail/'
I said, and so I did n't know where it was.
This honest, straightforward little story made
father so angry that he exclaimed with heavy,
foreboding emphasis: "The very deevil 's in
that boy!" David, who had been playing
with me and was perhaps* about as respon
sible for the loss of the whip as I was, said
never a word, for he was always prudent
enough to hold his tongue when the parental
weather was stormy, and so escaped nearly
all punishment. And, strange to say, this time
I also escaped, all except a terrible scolding,
though the thrashing weather seemed darker
than ever. As if unwilling to let the sun see the
shameful job, father took me into the cabin
where the storm was to fall, and sent David
to the woods for a switch. While he was out
selecting the switch, father put in the spare
time sketching my play-wickedness in awful
colors, and of course referred again and again
to the place prepared for bad boys. In the
midst of this terrible word-storm, dreading
most the impending thrashing, I whimpered
that I was only playing because I could n't
help it; didn't know I was doing wrong;
70

A NEW WORLD

would n't do it again, and so forth. After this
miserable dialogue was about exhausted, father
became impatient at my brother for taking so
long to find the switch; and so was I, for I
wanted to have the thing over and done with.
At last, in came David, a picture of open-
hearted innocence, solemnly dragging a young
bur-oak sapling, and handed the end of it to
father, saying it was the best switch he could
find. It was an awfully heavy one, about two
and a half inches thick at the butt and ten feet
long, almost big enough for a fence-pole. There
was n't room enough in the cabin to swing it,
and the moment I saw it I burst out laughing
in the midst of my fears. But father failed to
see the fun and was very angry at David,
heaved the bur-oak outside and passionately
demanded his reason for fetching "sic a muckle
rail like that instead o' a switch? Do ye ca'
that a switch? I have a gude mind to thrash
you insteed o' John." David, with demure,
downcast eyes, looked preternaturally right
eous, but as usual prudently answered never a
word.

It was a hard job in those days to bring up
Scotch boys in the way they should go; and
poor overworked father was determined to do
it if enough of the right kind of switches could
be found. But this time, as the sun was getting
71

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

high, he hitched up' old Tom and Jerry and
made haste to the Kingston lumber-yard,
leaving me unscathed and as innocently wicked
as ever; for hardly had father got fairly out of
sight among the oaks and hickories, ere all our
troubles, hell-threatenings, and exhortations
were forgotten in the fun we had lassoing a
stubborn old sow and laboriously trying to
teach her to go reasonably steady in rope har
ness. She was the first hog that father bought
to stock the farm, and we boys regarded her
as a very wonderful beast. In a few weeks she
had a lot of pigs, and of all the queer, funny,
animal children we had yet seen, none amused
us more. They were so comic in size.and shape,
in their gait and gestures, their merry sham
fights, and the false alarms they got up for the
fun of scampering back to their mother and
begging her in most persuasive little squeals to
lie down and give them a drink.

After her darling short-snouted babies were
about a month old, she took them out to
the woods and gradually roamed farther and
farther from the shanty in search of acorns
and roots. One afternoon we heard a rifle-shot,
a very noticeable thing, as we had no near
neighbors, as yet. We thought it must have
been fired by an Indian on the trail that fol
lowed the right bank of the Fox River between
72

A NEW WORLD

Portage and Packwaukee Lake and passed our
shanty at a distance of about three quarters
of a mile. Just a few minutes after that shot
was heard, along came the poor mother rushing
up to the shanty for protection, with her pigs,
all out of breath and terror-stricken. One of
them was missing, and we supposed of course
that an Indian had shot it for food. Next day,
I discovered a blood-puddle where the Indian
trail crossed the outlet of our lake. One of
father's hired men told us that the Indians
thought nothing of levying this sort of black
mail whenever they were hungry. The solemn
awe and fear in the eyes of that old mother
and those little pigs I never can forget; it was
as unmistakable and deadly a fear as I ever saw
expressed by any human eye, and corroborates
in no uncertain way the oneness of all of us.

CHAPTER III

LIFE ON A WISCONSIN FARM

COMING direct from school in Scotland
while we were still hopefully ignorant and far
from tame, — notwithstanding the unnatural
profusion of teaching and thrashing lavished
upon us, — getting acquainted with the ani
mals about us was a never-failing source of
wonder and delight. At first my father, like
nearly all the backwoods settlers, bought a
yoke of oxen to do the farm work, and as field
after field was cleared, the number was gradu
ally increased until we had five yoke. These
wise, patient, plodding animals did all the
ploughing, logging, hauling, and hard work of
every sort for the first four or five years, and,
never having seen oxen before, we looked at
them with the same eager freshness of con
ception as we did at the wild animals. We
worked with them, sympathized with them in
their rest and toil and play, and thus learned
to know them far better than we should had
we been only trained scientific naturalists. We
soon learned that each ox and cow and calf had
individual character. Old white-faced Buck,
one of the second yoke of oxen we owned, was
74

LIFE ON A WISCONSIN FARM

a notably sagacious fellow. He seemed to
reason sometimes almost like ourselves. In the
fall we fed the cattle lots of pumpkins and
had to split them open so that mouthfuls could
be readily broken off. But Buck never waited
for us to come to his help. The others, when
they were hungry and impatient, tried to
break through the hard rind with their teeth,
but seldom with success if the pumpkin was
full grown. Buck never wasted time in this
mumbling, slavering way, but crushed them
with his head. He went to the pile, picked out
a good one, like a boy choosing an orange or
apple, rolled it down on to the open ground,
deliberately kneeled in front of it, placed his \J
broad, flat brow on top of it, brought his weight
hard down and crushed it, then quietly arose
and went on with his meal in comfort. Some
would call this " instinct," as if so-called
"blind instinct" must necessarily make an ox
stand on its head to break pumpkins when its
teeth got sore, or when nobody came with an
axe to split them. Another fine ox showed his
skill when hungry by opening all the fences
that stood in his way to the corn-fields.

The humanity we found in them came partly

through the expression of their eyes when

tired, their tones of voice when hungry and

calling for food, their patient plodding and

75

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

pulling in hot weather, their long-drawn-out
sighing breath when exhausted and suffering
like ourselves, and their enjoyment of rest
with the same grateful looks as ours. We
recognized their kinship also by their yawning
like ourselves when sleepy and evidently en
joying the same peculiar pleasure at the roots
of their jaws; by the way they stretched them
selves in the morning after a good rest; by
learning languages, — Scotch, English, Irish,
French, Dutch, — a smattering of each as re
quired in the faithful service they so willingly,
wisely rendered ; by their intelligent, alert curi
osity, manifested in listening to strange sounds;
their love of play; the attachments they made;
and their mourning, long continued, when a
companion was killed.

When we went to Portage, our nearest town,
about ten or twelve miles from the farm, it
would oftentimes be late before we got back,
and in the summer-time, in sultry, rainy
weather, the clouds were full of sheet lightning
which every minute or two would suddenly il
lumine the landscape, revealing all its features,
the hills and valleys, meadows and trees, about
as fully and clearly as the noonday sunshine;
then as suddenly the glorious light would be
quenched, making the darkness seem denser
than before. On such nights the cattle had to
76

LIFE ON A WISCONSIN FARM

find the way home without any help from us,
but they never got off the track, for they fol
lowed it by scent like dogs. Once, father,
returning late from Portage or Kingston, com
pelled Tom and Jerry, our first oxen, to leave
the dim track, imagining they must be going
wrong. At last they stopped and refused to
go farther. Then father unhitched them from
the wagon, took hold of Tom's tail, and was
thus led straight to the shanty. Next morning
he set out to seek his wagon and found it on the
brow of a steep hill above an impassable swamp.
We learned less from the cows, because we
did not enter so far into their lives, working
with them, suffering heat and cold, hunger and
thirst, and almost deadly weariness with them;
but none with natural charity could fail to
sympathize with them in their love for their
calves, and to feel that it in noway differed from
the divine mother-love of a woman in thought
ful, self-sacrificing care; for they would brave
every danger, giving their lives for their off
spring. Nor could we fail to sympathize with
their awkward, blunt-nosed baby calves, with
such beautiful, wondering eyes looking out on
the world and slowly getting acquainted with
things, all so strange to them, and awkwardly
learning to use their legs, and play and fight.
Before leaving Scotland, father promised us
77

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

a pony to ride when we got to America, and
we saw to it that this promise was not forgotten.
Only a week or two after our arrival in the
woods he bought us a little Indian pony for
thirteen dollars from a store-keeper in Kingston
who had obtained him from a Winnebago or
Menominee Indian in trade for goods. He was
a stout handsome bay with long black mane
and tail, and, though he was only two years old,
the Indians had already taught him to carry
all sorts of burdens, to stand without being
tied, to go anywhere over all sorts of ground
fast or slow, and to jump and swim and
fear nothing, — a truly wonderful creature,
strangely different from shy, skittish, nervous,
superstitious civilized beasts. We turned him
loose, and, strange to say, he never ran away
from us or refused to be caught, but behaved
as if he had known Scotch boys all his life;
probably because we were about as wild as
young Indians.

One day when father happened to have a
little leisure, he said, "Noo, bairns, rin doon
the meadow and get your powny and learn
to ride him." So we led him out to a smooth
place near an Indian mound back of the
shanty, where father directed us to begin.
I mounted for the first memorable lesson,-
crossed the mound, and set out at a slow

78

LIFE ON A WISCONSIN FARM

walk along the wagon-track made in hauling
lumber; then father shouted: "Whup him up,
John, whup him up ! Make him gallop ; gallopin'
is easier and better than walkin' or trottin'."
Jack was willing, and away he sped at a good
fast gallop. I managed to keep my balance
fairly well by holding fast to the mane, but
could not keep from bumping up and down, for
I was plump and elastic and so was Jack;
therefore about half of the time I was in
the air.

After a quarter of a mile or so of this curi
ous transportation, I cried, "Whoa, Jack!"
The wonderful creature seemed to understand
Scotch, for he stopped so suddenly I flew over
his head, but he stood perfectly still as if that
flying method of dismounting were the regular
way. Jumping on again, I bumped and bobbed
back along the grassy, flowery track, over the
Indian mound, cried, "Whoa, Jack!" flew over
his head, and alighted in father's arms as
gracefully as if it were all intended for circus
work.

After going over the course five or six
times in the same free, picturesque style, I
gave place to brother David, whose perform
ances were much like my own. In a few weeks,
however, or a month, we were taking adventur
ous rides more than a mile long out to a big
79

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

meadow frequented by sandhill cranes, and
returning safely with wonderful stories of the
great long-legged birds we had seen, and how
on the whole journey away and back we had
fallen off only five or six times. Gradually we
learned to gallop through the woods without
roads of any sort, bareback and without rope
or bridle, guiding only by leaning from side to
side or by slight knee pressure. In this free
way we used to amuse ourselves, riding at full
speed across a big "kettle" that was on our
farm, without holding on by either mane or tail.
These so-called " kettles" were formed by
the melting of large detached blocks of ice
that had been buried in moraine material
thousands of years ago when the ice-sheet that
covered all this region was receding. As the
buried ice melted, of course the moraine mate
rial above and about it fell in, forming hopper-
shaped hollows, while the grass growing on
their sides and around them prevented the
rain and wind from filling them up. The one we
performed in was perhaps seventy or eighty
feet wide and twenty or thirty feet deep; and
without a saddle or hold of any kind it was not
easy to keep from slipping over Jack's head in
diving into it, or over his tail climbing out.
This was fine sport on the long summer Sun
days when we were able to steal away before
80

LIFE ON A WISCONSIN FARM

meeting-time without being seen. We got very
warm and red at it, and oftentimes poor Jack,
dripping with sweat like his riders, seemed to
have been boiled in that kettle.

In Scotland we had often been admonished
to be bold, and this advice we passed on to
Jack, who had already got many a wild lesson
from Indian boys. Once, when teaching him
to jump muddy streams, I made him try the
creek in our meadow at a place where it is
about twelve feet wide. He jumped bravely
enough, but came down with a grand splash
hardly more than halfway over. The water
was only about a foot in depth, but the black
vegetable mud half afloat was unfathomable.
I managed to wallow ashore, but poor Jack
sank deeper and deeper until only his head was
visible in the black abyss, and his Indian forti
tude was desperately tried. His foundering so
suddenly in the treacherous gulf recalled the
story of the Abbot of Aberbrothok's bell,
which went down with a gurgling sound while
bubbles rose and burst around. I had to go
to father for help. He tied a long hemp rope
brought from Scotland around Jack's neck, and
Tom and Jerry seemed to have all they could
do to pull him out. After which I got a solemn
scolding for asking the "puir beast to jump
intil sic a saft bottomless place. "

81

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

We moved into our frame house in the fall,
when mother with the rest of the family arrived
from Scotland, and, when the winter snow be
gan to fly, the bur-oak shanty was made into
a stable for Jack. Father told us that good
meadow hay was all he required, but we fed
him corn, lots of it, and he grew very frisky
and fat. About the middle of winter his long
hair was full of dust and, as we thought, re
quired washing. So, without taking the frosty
weather into account, we gave him a thorough
soap and water scouring, and as we failed to
get him rubbed dry, a row of icicles formed
under his belly. Father happened to see him
in this condition and angrily asked what we
had been about. We said Jack was dirty and
we had washed him to make him healthy. He
told us we ought to be ashamed of ourselves,
" soaking the puir beast in cauld water at this
time o' year"; that when we wanted to clean
him we should have sense enough to use the
brush and curry-comb.

In summer Dave or I had to ride after the
cows every evening about sundown, and Jack
got so accustomed to bringing in the drove
that when we happened to be a few minutes
late he used to go off alone at the regular time
and bring them home at a gallop. It used to
make father very angry to see Jack chasing the
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o ^

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E I

LIFE ON A WISCONSIN FARM

cows like a shepherd dog, running from one to
the other and giving each a bite on the rump
to keep them on the run, flying before him as if
pursued by wolves. Father would declare at
times that the wicked beast had the deevil in
him and would be the death of the cattle. The
corral and barn were just at the foot of a hill,
and he made a great display of the drove on the
home stretch as they walloped down that hill
with their tails on end.

One evening when the pell-mell Wild West
show was at its wildest, it made father so
extravagantly mad that he ordered me to
"Shoot Jack!" I went to the house and
brought the gun, suffering most horrible men
tal anguish, such as I suppose unhappy Abra
ham felt when commanded to slay Isaac.
Jack's life was spared, however, though I can't
tell what finally became of him. I wish I could.
After father bought a span of work horses he
was sold to a man who said he was going to
ride him across the plains to California. We
had him, I think, some five or six years. He
was the stoutest, gentlest, bravest little horse
I ever saw. He never seemed tired, could can
ter all day with a man about as heavy as
himself on his back, and feared nothing. Once
fifty or sixty pounds of beef that was tied
on his back slid over his shoulders along his

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

neck and weighed down his head to the ground,
fairly anchoring him; but he stood patient and
still for half an hour or so without making the
slightest struggle to free himself, while I was
away getting help to untie the pack-rope and
set the load back in its place.

As I was the eldest boy I had the care of our
first span of work horses. Their names were
Nob and Nell. Nob was very intelligent, and
even affectionate, and could learn almost any
thing. Nell was entirely different; balky and
stubborn, though we managed to teach her a
good many circus tricks; but she never seemed
to like to play with us in anything like an affec
tionate way as Nob did. We turned them out
one day into the pasture, and an Indian, hiding
in the brush that had sprung up after the grass
fires had been kept out, managed to catch Nob,
tied a rope to her jaw for a bridle, rode her
to Green Lake, about thirty or forty miles
away, and tried to sell her for fifteen dollars.
All our hearts were sore, as if one of the family
had been lost. We hunted everywhere and
could not at first imagine what had become of
her. We discovered her track where the fence
was broken down, and, following it for a few
miles, made sure the track was Nob's; and a
neighbor told us he had seen an Indian riding
fast through the woods on a horse that looked

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LIFE ON A WISCONSIN FARM

like Nob. But we could find no farther trace of
her until a month or two after she was lost,
and we had given up hope of ever seeing her
again. Then we learned that she had been taken
from an Indian by a farmer at Green Lake be
cause he saw that she had been shod and had
worked in harness. So when the Indian tried
to sell her the farmer said: "You are a thief.
That is a white man's horse. You stole her."

"No," said the Indian, "I brought her from
Prairie du Chien and she has always been
mine."

The man, pointing to her feet and the marks
of the harness, said : ' ' You are lying. I will take
that horse away from you and put her in my
pasture, and if you come near it I will set the
dogs on you." Then he advertised her. One of
our neighbors happened to see the advertise
ment and brought us the glad news, and great
was our rejoicing when father brought her
home. That Indian must have treated her with
terrible cruelty, for when I was riding her
through the pasture several years afterward,
looking for another horse that we wanted to
catch, as we approached the place where she
had been captured she stood stock still gazing
through the bushes, fearing the Indian might
still be hiding there ready to spring; and she
was so excited that she trembled, and her
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MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

heartbeats were so loud that I could hear them
distinctly as I sat on her back, boomp, boomp,
boomp, like the drumming of a partridge.
So vividly had she remembered her terrible
experiences.

She was a great pet and favorite with the
whole family, quickly learned playful tricks,
came running when we called, seemed to know
everything we said to her, and had the utmost
confidence in our friendly kindness.

We used to cut and shock and husk the
Indian corn in the fall, until a keen Yankee
stopped overnight at our house and among
other labor-saving notions convinced father
that it was better to let it stand, and husk it
at his leisure during the winter, then turn in
the cattle to eat the leaves and trample down
the stalks, so that they could be ploughed under
in the spring. In this winter method each of us
took two rows and husked into baskets, and
emptied the corn on the ground in piles of fif
teen to twenty basketfuls, then loaded it into
the wagon to be hauled to the crib. This
was cold, painful work, the temperature being
oftentimes far below zero and the ground cov
ered with dry, frosty snow, giving rise to mis
erable crops of chilblains and frosted fingers —
a sad change from the merry Indian-summer
husking, when the big yellow pumpkins covered
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LIFE ON A WISCONSIN FARM

the cleared fields; — golden corn, golden pump
kins, gathered in the hazy golden weather. Sad
change, indeed, but we occasionally got some
fun out of the nipping, shivery work from hun
gry prairie chickens, and squirrels and mice
that came about us.

The piles of corn were often left in the field
several days, and while loading them into the
wagon we usually found field mice in them, —
big, blunt-nosed, strong-scented fellows that
we were taught to kill just because they nibbled
a few grains of corn. I used to hold one while
it was still warm, up to Nob's nose for the fun
of seeing her make faces and snort at the smell
of it; and I would say: "Here, Nob," as if
offering her a lump of sugar. One day I offered
her an extra fine, fat, plump specimen, some
thing like a little woodchuck, or muskrat, and
to my astonishment, after smelling it curiously
and doubtfully, as if wondering what the gift
might be, and rubbing it back and forth in the
palm of my hand with her upper lip, she delib
erately took it into her mouth, crunched and
munched and chewed it fine and swallowed it,
bones, teeth, head, tail, everything. Not a
single hair of that mouse was wasted. When
she was chewing it she nodded and grunted, as
though critically tasting and relishing it.

My father was a steadfast enthusiast on reli-
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MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

gious matters, and, of course, attended almost
every sort of church-meeting, especially re
vival meetings. They were occasionally held in
summer, but mostly in winter when the sleigh
ing was good and plenty of tune available.
One hot summer day father drove Nob to Por
tage and back, twenty-four miles over a sandy
road. It was a hot, hard, sultry day's work,
and she had evidently been over-driven in or
der to get home in tune for one of these meet
ings. I shall never forget how tired and wilted
she looked that evening when I unhitched
her; how she drooped in her stall, too tired to
eat or even to lie down. Next morning it was
plain that her lungs were inflamed; all the
dreadful symptoms were just the same as my
own when I had pneumonia. Father sent for a
Methodist minister, a very energetic, resource
ful man, who was a blacksmith, farmer, butcher,
and horse-doctor as well as minister; but all
his gifts and skill were of no avail. Nob was
doomed. We bathed her head and tried to get
her to eat something, but she could n't eat,
and in about a couple of weeks we turned her
loose to let her come around the house and see
us in the weary suffering and loneliness of the
shadow of death. She tried to follow us chil
dren, so long her friends and workmates and
playmates. It was awfully touching. She had

LIFE ON A WISCONSIN FARM

several hemorrhages, and in the forenoon of her
last day, after she had had one of her dread
ful spells of bleeding and gasping for breath,
she came to me trembling, with beseeching,
heartbreaking looks, and after I had bathed
her head and tried to soothe and pet her, she
lay down and gasped and died. All the fam
ily gathered about her, weeping, with aching
hearts. Then dust to dust.

She was the most faithful, intelligent, playful,
affectionate, human-like horse I ever knew, and
she won all our hearts. Of the many advan
tages of farm life for boys one of the greatest
is the gaining a real knowledge of animals as
fellow-mortals, learning to respect them and
love them, and even to win some of their love.
Thus godlike sympathy grows and thrives and
spreads far beyond the teachings of churches
and schools, where too often the mean, blind
ing, loveless doctrine is taught that animals
have neither mind nor soul, have no rights that
we are bound to respect, and were made only
for man, to be petted, spoiled, slaughtered, or
enslaved.

At first we were afraid of snakes, but soon
learned that most of them were harmless. The
only venomous species seen on our farm were
the rattlesnake and the copperhead, one of
each. David saw the rattler, and we both saw
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MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

the copperhead. One day, when my brother
came in from his work, he reported that he had
seen a snake that made a queer buzzy noise
with its tail. This was the only rattlesnake
seen on our farm, though we heard of them
being common on limestone hills eight or ten
miles distant. We discovered the copperhead
when we were ploughing, and we saw and felt
at the first long, fixed, half-charmed, admiring
stare at him that he was an awfully dangerous
fellow. Every fiber of his strong, lithe, quiver
ing body, his burnished copper-colored head,
and above all his fierce, able eyes, seemed to
be overflowing full of deadly power, and bade us
beware. And yet it is only fair to say that this
terrible, beautiful reptile showed no disposition
to hurt us until we threw clods at him and tried
to head him off from a log fence into which he
was trying to escape. We were barefooted and
of course afraid to let him get very near, while
we vainly battered him with the loose sandy
clods of the freshly ploughed field to hold him
back until we could get a stick. Looking us in
the eyes after a moment's pause, he probably
saw we were afraid, and he came right straight
at us, snapping and looking terrible, drove us
out of his way, and won his fight.

Out on the open sandy hills there were a
good many thick burly blow snakes, the kind
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LIFE ON A WISCONSIN FARM

that puff themselves up and hiss. Our Yankee
declared that their breath was very poisonous
and that we must not go near them. A hand
some ringed species common in damp, shady
places was, he told us, the most wonderful of
all the snakes, for if chopped into pieces, how
ever small, the fragments would wriggle them
selves together again, and the restored snake
would go on about its business as if nothing
had happened. The commonest kinds were the
striped slender species of the meadows and
streams, good swimmers, that lived mostly on
frogs.

Once I observed one of the larger ones,
about two feet long, pursuing a frog in our
meadow, and it was wonderful to see how fast
the legless, footless, wingless, finless hunter
could run. The frog, of course, knew its enemy
and was making desperate efforts to escape to
the water and hide in the marsh mud. He
was a fine, sleek yellow muscular fellow and
was springing over the tall grass in wide-arch
ing jumps. The green-striped snake, gliding
swiftly and steadily, was keeping the frog in
sight and, had I not interfered, would probably
have tired out the poor jumper. Then, perhaps,
while digesting and enjoying his meal, the
happy snake would himself be swallowed frog
and all by a hawk. Again, to our astonishment,

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MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

the small specimens were attacked by our hens.
They pursued and pecked away at them until
they killed and devoured them, oftentimes
quarreling over the division of the spoil, though
it was not easily divided.

We watched the habits of the swift-dart
ing dragonflies, wild bees, butterflies, wasps,
beetles, etc., and soon learned to discriminate
between those that might be safely handled
and the pinching or stinging species. But of all
our wild neighbors the mosquitoes were the
first with which we became very intimately
acquainted.

The beautiful meadow lying warm in the
spring sunshine, outspread between our lily-
rimmed lake and the hill-slope that our shanty
stood on, sent forth thirsty swarms of the lit
tle gray, speckledy, singing, stinging pests; and
how tellingly they introduced themselves! Of
little avail were the smudges that we made on
muggy evenings to drive them away; and amid
the many lessons which they insisted upon
teaching us we wondered more and more at the
extent of their knowledge, especially that hi
their tiny, flimsy bodies room could be found
for such cunning palates. They would drink
their fill from brown, smoky Indians, or from
old white folk flavored with tobacco and whis
key, when no better could be had. But the

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LIFE ON A WISCONSIN FARM

surpassing fineness of their taste was best
manifested by their enthusiastic appreciation
of boys full of lively red blood, and of girls in
full bloom fresh from cool Scotland or England.
On these it was pleasant to witness their enjoy
ment as they feasted. Indians, we were told,
believed that if they were brave fighters they
would go after death to a happy country
abounding in game, where there were no mos
quitoes and no cowards. For cowards were
driven away by themselves to a miserable
country where there was no game fit to eat,
and where the sky was always dark with huge
gnats and mosquitoes as big as pigeons.

We were great admirers of the little black
water-bugs. Their whole lives seemed to be
play, skimming, swimming, swirling, and waltz
ing together in little groups on the edge of the
lake and in the meadow springs, dancing to
music we never could hear. The long-legged
skaters, too, seemed wonderful fellows, shuffling
about on top of the water, with air-bubbles
like little bladders tangled under their hairy
feet; and we often wished that we also might
be shod in the same way to enable us to skate
on the lake in summer as well as in icy winter.
Not less wonderful were the boatmen, swim
ming on their backs, pulling themselves along
with a pair of oar-like legs.
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MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

Great was the delight of brothers David and
Daniel and myself when father gave us a few
pine boards for a boat, and it was a memorable
day when we got that boat built and launched
into the lake. Never shall I forget our first sail
over the gradually deepening water, the sun
beams pouring through it revealing the strange
plants covering the bottom, and the fishes com
ing about us, staring and wondering as if the
boat were a monstrous strange fish.

The water was so clear that it was almost
invisible, and when we floated slowly out over
the plants and fishes, we seemed to be miracu
lously sustained in the air while silently ex
ploring a veritable fairyland.

We always had to work hard, but if we
worked still harder we were occasionally al
lowed a little spell in the long summer evenings
about sundown to fish, and on Sundays an hour
or two to sail quietly without fishing-rod or gun
when the lake was calm. Therefore we grad
ually learned something about its inhabitants,
— pickerel, sunfish, black bass, perch, shiners,
pumpkin-seeds, ducks, loons, turtles, muskrats,
etc. We saw the sunfishes making their nests
in little openings in the rushes where the water
was only a few feet deep, ploughing up and
shoving away the soft gray mud with their
noses, like pigs, forming round bowls five or six
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LIFE ON A WISCONSIN FARM

inches in depth and about two feet in diameter,
in which their eggs were deposited. And with
what beautiful, unweariable devotion they
watched and hovered over them and chased
away prowling spawn-eating enemies that ven
tured within a rod or two of the precious nest!

The pickerel is a savage fish endowed with
marvelous strength and speed. It lies in wait
for its prey on the bottom, perfectly motion
less like a waterlogged stick, watching every
thing that moves, with fierce, hungry eyes.
Oftentimes when we were fishing for some other
kinds over the edge of the boat, a pickerel that
we had not noticed would come like a bolt of
lightning and seize the fish we had caught
before we could get it into the boat. The very
first pickerel that I ever caught jumped into
the air to seize a small fish dangling on my line,
and, missing its ami, fell plump into the boat
as if it had dropped from the sky.

Some of our neighbors fished for pickerel
through the ice in midwinter. They usually
drove a wagon out on the lake, set a large
number of lines baited with live minnows, hung
a loop of the lines over a small bush planted at
the side of each hole, and watched to see the
loops pulled off when a fish had taken the bait.
Large quantities of pickerel were often caught
in this cruel way.

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MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

Our beautiful lake, named Fountain Lake by
father, but Muir's Lake by the neighbors, is
one of the many small glacier lakes that adorn
the Wisconsin landscapes. It is fed by twenty
or thirty meadow springs, is about half a mile
long, half as wide, and surrounded by low
finely-modeled hills dotted with oak and hick
ory, and meadows full of grasses and sedges
and many beautiful orchids and ferns. First
there is a zone of green, shining rushes, and
just beyond the rushes a zone of white and
orange water-lilies fifty or sixty feet wide form
ing a magnificent 'border. On bright days, when
the lake was rippled by a breeze, the lilies and
sun-spangles danced together in radiant beauty,
and it became difficult to discriminate between
them.

On Sundays, after or before chores and ser
mons and Bible-lessons, we drifted about on
the lake for hours, especially in lily time, get
ting finest lessons and sermons from the water
and flowers, ducks, fishes, and muskrats. In
particular we took Christ's advice and de
voutly " considered the lilies" -how they
grow up in beauty out of gray lime mud, and
ride gloriously among the breezy sun-spangles.
On our way home we gathered grand bouquets
of them to be kept fresh all the week. No
flower was hailed with greater wonder and
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LIFE ON A WISCONSIN FARM

admiration by the European settlers in general
- Scotch, English, and Irish — than this white
water-lily (Nymphcea odorata). It is a magni
ficent plant, queen of the inland waters, pure
white, three or four inches in diameter, the
most beautiful, sumptuous, and deliciously
fragrant of all our Wisconsin flowers. No lily
garden in civilization we had ever seen could
compare with our lake garden.

The next most admirable flower in the esti
mation of settlers in this part of the new world
was the pasque-flower or wind-flower (Ane
mone Patens var. Nuttalliana). It is the very
first to appear in the spring, covering the cold
gray-black ground with cheery blossoms. Be
fore the axe or plough had touched the "oak
openings " of Wisconsin, they were swept by
running fires almost every autumn after the
grass became dry. If from any cause, such as
early snowstorms or late rains, they happened
to escape the autumn fire besom, they were
likely to be burned in the spring after the snow
melted. But whether burned in the spring or
fall, ashes and bits of charred twigs and grass
stems made the whole country look dismal.
Then, before a single grass-blade had sprouted,
a hopeful multitude of large hairy, silky buds
about as thick as one's thumb came to light,
pushing up through the black and gray ashes
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MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

and cinders, and before these buds were fairly
free from the ground they opened wide and dis
played purple blossoms about two inches in
diameter, giving beauty for ashes in glori
ous abundance. Instead of remaining in the
ground waiting for warm weather and com
panions, this admirable plant seemed to be in
haste to rise and cheer the desolate landscape.
Then at its leisure, after other plants had come
to its help, it spread its leaves and grew up to a
height of about two or three feet. The spread
ing leaves formed a whorl on the ground, and
another about the middle of the stem as an
involucre, and on the top of the stem the silky,
hairy long-tailed seeds formed a head like a
second flower. A little church was established
among the earlier settlers and the meetings at
first were held in our house. After working
hard all the week it was difficult for boys to
sit still through long sermons without falling
asleep, especially in warm weather. In this
drowsy trouble the charming anemone came
to our help. A pocketful of the pungent seeds
industriously nibbled while the discourses were
at their dullest kept us awake and filled our
minds with flowers.

The next great flower wonders on which we
lavished admiration, not only for beauty of
color and size, but for their curious shapes, were
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LIFE ON A WISCONSIN FAKM

the cypripediums, called " lady's-slippers " or
"Indian moccasins." They were so different
from the familiar flowers of old Scotland.
Several species grew in our meadow and on
shady hillsides — yellow, rose-colored, and
some nearly white, an inch or more in diameter,
and shaped exactly like Indian moccasins.
They caught the eye of all the European
settlers and made them gaze and wonder like
children. And so did calopogon, pogonia, spi-
ranthes, and many other fine plant people that
lived in our meadow. The beautiful Turk's-
turban (Lilium superbum) growing on stream-
banks was rare in our neighborhood, but the
orange lily grew in abundance on dry ground
beneath the bur-oaks and often brought Aunt
Ray's lily-bed in Scotland to mind. The
butterfly-weed, with its brilliant scarlet flow
ers, attracted flocks of butterflies and made fine
masses of color. With autumn came a glorious
abundance and variety of asters, those beauti
ful plant stars, together with goldenrods, sun
flowers, daisies, and liatris of different species,
while around the shady margin of the meadow
many ferns in beds and vaselike groups spread
their beautiful fronds, especially the osmundas
(0. claytoniana, regalis, and cinnamomea) and
the sensitive and ostrich ferns.
Early in summer we feasted on strawberries,

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MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

that grew in rich beds beneath the meadow
grasses and sedges as well as in the dry sunny
woods. And in different bogs and marshes, and
around their borders on our own farm and
along the Fox River, we found dewberries and
cranberries, and a glorious profusion of huckle
berries, the fountain-heads of pies of wondrous
taste and size, colored in the heart like sunsets.
Nor were we slow to discover the value of the
hickory trees yielding both sugar and nuts.
We carefully counted the different kinds on
our farm, and every morning when we could
steal a few minutes before breakfast after doing
the chores, we visited the trees that had been
wounded by the axe, to scrape off and enjoy
the thick white delicious syrup that exuded
from them, and gathered the nuts as they fell
in the mellow Indian summer, making haste to
get a fair share with the sapsuckers and squir
rels. The hickory makes fine masses of color
in the fall, every leaf a flower, but it was the
sweet sap and sweet nuts that first interested
us. No harvest in the Wisconsin woods was ever
gathered with more pleasure and care. Also,
to our delight, we found plenty of hazelnuts,
and in a few places abundance of wild apples.
They were desperately sour, and we used to fill
our pockets with them and dare each other to
eat one without making a face — no easy feat.
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One hot summer day father told us that we
ought to learn to swim. This was one of the
most interesting suggestions he had ever
offered, but precious little time was allowed for
trips to the lake, and he seldom tried to show
us how. "Go to the frogs," he said, "and they
will give you all the lessons you need. Watch
their arms and legs and see how smoothly they
kick themselves along and dive and come up.
When you want to dive, keep your arms by
your side or over your head, and kick, and when
you want to come up, let your legs drag and
paddle with your hands. "

We found a little basin among the rushes at
the south end of the lake, about waist-deep and
a rod or two wide, shaped like a sunfish's nest.
Here we kicked and plashed for many a lesson,
faithfully trying to imitate frogs; but the
smooth, comfortable sliding gait of our amphib
ious teachers seemed hopelessly hard to learn.
When we tried to kick frog-fashion, down went
our heads as if weighted with lead the moment
our feet left the ground. One day it occurred
to me to hold my breath as long as I could and
let my head sink as far as it liked without pay
ing any attention to it, and try to swim under
the water instead of on the surface. This
method was a great success, for at the very
first trial I managed to cross the basin without
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MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

touching bottom, and soon learned the use of
my limbs. Then, of course, swimming with
my head above water soon became so easy that
it seemed perfectly natural. David tried the
plan with the same success. Then we began
to count the number of times that we could
swim around the basin without stopping to
rest, and after twenty or thirty rounds failed
to tire us, we proudly thought that a little more
practice would make us about as amphibious
as frogs.

On the fourth of July of this swimming year
one of the Lawson boys came to visit us, and
we went down to the lake to spend the great
warm day with the fishes and ducks and turtles.
After gliding about on the smooth mirror
water, telling stories and enjoying the com
pany of the happy creatures about us, we rowed
to our bathing-pool, and David and I went in
for a swim, while our companion fished from
the boat a little way out beyond the rushes.
After a few turns in the pool, it occurred to
me that it was now about time to try deep
water. Swimming through the thick growth of
rushes and lilies was somewhat dangerous, es
pecially for a beginner, because one's arms and
legs might be entangled among the long, limber
stems; nevertheless I ventured and struck out
boldly enough for the boat, where the water
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LIFE ON A WISCONSIN FARM

was twenty or thirty feet deep. When I
reached the end of the little skiff I raised
my right hand to take hold of it to surprise
Lawson, whose back was toward me and who
was not aware of my approach; but I failed
to reach high enough, and, of course, the weight
of my arm and the stroke against the over-
leaning stern of the boat shoved me down and
I sank, struggling, frightened and confused.
As soon as my feet touched the bottom, I
slowly rose to the surface, but before I could
get breath enough to call for help, sank back
again and lost all control of myself. After sink
ing and rising I don't know how many times,
some water got into my lungs and I began to
drown. Then suddenly my mind seemed to
clear. I remembered that I could swim under
water, and, making a desperate struggle toward
the shore, I reached a point where with my toes
on the bottom I got my mouth above the surface,
gasped for help, and was pulled into the boat.
This humiliating accident spoiled the day,
and we all agreed to keep it a profound secret.
My sister Sarah had heard my cry for help,
and on our arrival at the house inquired what
had happened. "Were you drowning, John? I
heard you cry you couldna get oot." Lawson
made haste to reply, "Oh, no! He was juist
haverin" [making fun].

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MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

I was very much ashamed of myself, and at
night, after calmly reviewing the affair, con
cluded that there had been no reasonable cause
for the accident, and that I ought to punish
myself for so nearly losing my life from unmanly
fear. Accordingly at the very first opportunity,
I stole away to the lake by myself, got into my
boat, and instead of going back to the old
swimming-bowl for further practice, or to try
to do sanely and well what I had so ignomini-
ously failed to do in my first adventure, that
is, to swim out through the rushes and lilies,
I rowed directly out to the middle of the lake,
stripped, stood up on the seat in the stern, and
with grim deliberation took a header and dove
straight down thirty or forty feet, turned easily,
and, letting my feet drag, paddled straight to
the surface with my hands as father had at
first directed me to do. I then swam round the
boat, glorying in my suddenly acquired confi
dence and victory over myself, climbed into
it, and dived again, with the same triumphant
success. I think I went down four or five times,
and each time as I made the dive-spring
shouted aloud, "Take that!" feeling that I
was getting most gloriously even with myself.

Never again from that day to this have I
lost control of myself in water. If suddenly
thrown overboard at sea in the dark, or even

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LIFE ON A WISCONSIN FARM

while asleep, I think I would immediately right
myself in a way some would call " instinct,"
rise among the waves, catch my breath, and
try to plan what would better be done. Never
was victory over self more complete. I have
been a good swimmer ever since. At a slow
gait I think I could swim all day in smooth
water moderate in temperature. When I was
a student at Madison, I used to go on long
swimming-journeys, called exploring expedi
tions, along the south shore of Lake Mendota,
on Saturdays, sometimes alone, sometimes with
another amphibious explorer by the name of
Fuller.

My adventures in Fountain Lake call to
mind the story of a boy who in climbing a tree
to rob a crow's nest fell and broke his leg, but
as soon as it healed compelled himself to climb
to the top of the tree he had fallen from.

Like Scotch children in general we were
taught grim self-denial, in season and out of
season, to mortify the flesh, keep our bodies in
subjection to Bible laws, and mercilessly pun
ish ourselves for every fault imagined or com
mitted. A little boy, while helping his sister
to drive home the cows, happened to use a for
bidden word. " I '11 have to tell fayther on ye,"
said the horrified sister. "I'll tell him that ye
said a bad word." "Weel," said the boy, by

105

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

way of excuse, "I couldna help the word comin'
into me, and it's na waur to speak it oot than
to let it rin through ye/7

A Scotch fiddler playing at a wedding drank
so much whiskey that on the way home he
fell by the roadside. In the morning he was
ashamed and angry and determined to punish
himself. Making haste to the house of a friend,
a gamekeeper, he called him out, and requested
the loan of a gun. The alarmed gamekeeper,
not liking the fiddler's looks and voice, anx
iously inquired what he was going to do with
it. " Surely," said he, " you 're no gan to shoot
yoursel." "No-o," with characteristic candor
replied the penitent fiddler, "I dinna think that
I'll juist exactly kill mysel, but I'm gaun to
tak a dander doon the burn (brook) wi' the
gun and gie mysel a deevil o' a fleg" (fright).

One calm summer evening a red-headed
woodpecker was drowned in our lake. The
accident happened at the south end, opposite
our memorable swimming-hole, a few rods from
the place where I came so near being drowned
years before. I had returned to the old home
during a summer vacation of the State Uni
versity, and, having made a beginning in bot
any, I was, of course, full of enthusiasm and ran
eagerly to my beloved pogonia, calopogon, and
cypripedium gardens, osmunda ferneries, and
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LIFE ON A WISCONSIN FARM

the lake lilies and pitcher-plants. A little before
sundown the day-breeze died away, and the
lake, reflecting the wooded hills like a mirror,
was dimpled and dotted and streaked here and
there where fishes and turtles were poking out
their heads and muskrats were sculling them
selves along with their flat tails making glitter
ing tracks. After lingering awhile, dreamily
recalling the old, hard, half-happy days, and
watching my favorite red-headed woodpeckers
pursuing moths like regular flycatchers, I
swam out through the rushes and up the middle
of the lake to the north end and back, gliding
slowly, looking about me, enjoying the scenery
as I would in a saunter along the shore, and
studying the habits of the animals as they were
explained and recorded on the smooth glassy
water.

On the way back, when I was within a hun
dred rods or so of the end of my voyage, I
noticed a peculiar plashing disturbance that
could not, I thought, be made by a jumping
fish or any other inhabitant of the lake; for in
stead of low regular out-circling ripples such as
are made by the popping up of a head, or like
those raised by the quick splash of a leaping
fish, or diving loon or muskrat, a continuous
struggle was kept up for several minutes ere
the outspreading, interfering ring-waves began
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MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

to die away. Swimming hastily to the spot to
try to discover what had happened, I found one
of my woodpeckers floating motionless with
outspread wings. All was over. Had I been a
minute or two earlier, I might have saved him.
He had glanced on the water I suppose in pur
suit of a moth, was unable to rise from it, and
died struggling, as I nearly did at this same spot.
Like me he seemed to have lost his mind in
blind confusion and fear. The water was warm,
and had he kept still with his head a little above
the surface, he would sooner or later have been
wafted ashore. The best aimed flights of birds
and man "gang aft agley," but this was the
first case I had witnessed of a bird losing its
life by drowning.

Doubtless accidents to animals are far more
common than is generally known. I have seen
quails killed by flying against our house when
suddenly startled. Some birds get entangled
in hairs of their own nests and die. Once I
found a poor snipe in our meadow that was
unable to fly on account of difficult egg-birth.
Pitying the poor mother, I picked her up out
of the grass and helped her as gently as I could,
and as soon as the egg was born she flew gladly
away. Oftentimes I have thought it strange
that one could walk through the woods and
mountains and plains for years without see-
108

LIFE ON A WISCONSIN FARM

ing a single blood-spot. Most wild animals
get into the world and out of it without being
noticed. Nevertheless we at last sadly learn
that they are all subject to the vicissitudes of
fortune like ourselves. Many birds lose their
lives in storms. I remember a particularly
severe Wisconsin winter, when the temperature
was many degrees below zero and the snow was
deep, preventing the quail, which feed on the
ground, from getting anything like enough of
food, as was pitifully shown by a flock I found
on our farm frozen solid in a thicket of oak
sprouts. They were in a circle about a foot
wide, with their heads outward, packed close
together for warmth. Yet all had died without
a struggle, perhaps more from starvation than
frost. Many small birds lose their lives in the
storms of early spring, or even summer. One
mild spring morning I picked up more than a
score out of the grass and flowers, most of them
darling singers that had perished in a sudden
storm of sleety rain and hail.

In a hollow at the foot of an oak tree that
I had chopped down one cold winter day, I
found a poor ground squirrel frozen solid in its
snug grassy nest, in the middle of a store of
nearly a peck of wheat it had carefully gathered.
I carried it home and gradually thawed and
warmed it in the kitchen, hoping it would come
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MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

to life like a pickerel I caught in our lake
through a hole in the ice, which, after being
frozen as hard as a bone and thawed at the fire
side, squirmed itself out of the grasp of the
cook when she began to scrape it, bounced off
the table, and danced about on the floor, mak
ing wonderful springy jumps as if trying to
find its way back home to the lake. But for
the poor spermophile nothing I could do in the
way of revival was of any avail. Its life had
passed away without the slightest struggle, as
it lay asleep curled up like a ball, with its tail
wrapped about it.

CHAPTER IV

A PARADISE OF BIRDS

THE Wisconsin oak openings were a summer
paradise for song birds, and a fine place to get
acquainted with them ; for the trees stood wide
apart, allowing one to see the happy home-
seekers as they arrived in the spring, their mat
ing, nest-building, the brooding and feeding
of the young, and, after they were full-fledged
and strong, to see all the families of the neigh
borhood gathering and getting ready to leave
in the fall. Excepting the geese and ducks
and pigeons nearly all our summer birds ar
rived singly or in small draggled flocks, but when
frost and falling leaves brought their winter
homes to mind they assembled in large flocks
on dead or leafless trees by the side of a meadow
or field, perhaps to get acquainted and talk the
thing over. Some species held regular daily
meetings for several weeks before finally setting
forth on their long southern journeys. Strange
to say, we never saw them start. Some morning
we would find them gone. Doubtless they mi
grated in the night time. Comparatively few
species remained all winter, the nuthatch,
chickadee, owl, prairie chicken, quail, and a
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MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

few stragglers from the main flocks of ducks,
jays, hawks, and bluebirds. Only after the
country was settled did either jays or bluebirds
winter with us.

The brave, frost-defying chickadees and
nuthatches stayed all the year wholly independ
ent of farms and man's food and affairs.

With the first hints of spring came the brave
little bluebirds, darling singers as blue as the
best sky, and of course we all loved them. Their
rich, crispy warbling is perfectly delightful,
soothing and cheering, sweet and whisperingly
low, Nature's fine love touches, every note
going straight home into one's heart. And
withal they are hardy and brave, fearless
fighters in defense of home. When we boys
approached their knot-hole nests, the bold lit
tle fellows kept scolding and diving at us and
tried to strike us in the face, and oftentimes
we were afraid they would prick our eyes. But
the boldness of the little housekeepers only
made us love them the more.

None of the bird people of Wisconsin wel
comed us more heartily than the common
robin. Far from showing alarm at the coming
of settlers into their native woods, they reared
their young around our gardens as if they liked
us, and how heartily we admired the beauty
and fine manners of these graceful birds and

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A PARADISE OF BIRDS

their loud cheery song of Fear not, fear not, cheer
up, cheer up. It was easy to love them for they
reminded us of the robin redbreast of Scotland.
Like the bluebirds they dared every danger in
defense of home, and we often wondered that
birds so gentle could be so bold and that sweet-
voiced singers could so fiercely fight and scold.
Of all the great singers that sweeten Wiscon
sin one of the best known and best loved is the
brown thrush or thrasher, strong and able
without being familiar, and easily seen* and
heard. Rosy purple evenings after thunder-
showers are the favorite song-times, when the
winds have died away and the steaming ground
and the leaves and flowers fill the air with fra
grance. Then the male makes haste to the top
most spray of an oak tree and sings loud and
clear with delightful enthusiasm until sun
down, mostly I suppose for his mate sitting on
the precious eggs in a brush heap. And how
faithful and watchful and daring he is! Woe
to the snake or squirrel that ventured to go
nigh the nest! We often saw him diving on
them, pecking them about the head and driv
ing them away as bravely as the kingbird
drives away hawks. Their rich and varied
strains make the air fairly quiver. We boys
often tried to interpret the wild ringing mel
ody and put it into words.
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MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

After the arrival of the thrushes came the
bobolinks, gushing, gurgling, inexhaustible
fountains of song, pouring forth floods of sweet
notes over the broad Fox River meadows in
wonderful variety and volume, crowded and
mixed beyond description, as they hovered on
quivering wings above their hidden nests in
the grass. It seemed marvelous to us that birds
so moderate in size could hold so much of this
wonderful song stuff. Each one of them poured
forth music enough for a whole flock, singing
as if its whole body, feathers and all, were made
up of music, flowing, glowing, bubbling melody
interpenetrated here and there with small scin
tillating prickles and spicules. We never became
so intimately acquainted with the bobolinks as
with the thrushes, for they lived far out on the
broad Fox River meadows, while the thrushes
sang on the tree-tops around every home. The
bobolinks were among the first of our great
singers to leave us in the fall, going apparently
direct to the rice-fields of the Southern States,
where they grew fat and were slaughtered in
countless numbers for food. Sad fate for singers
so purely divine.

One of the gayest of the singers is the red
wing blackbird. In the spring, when his scarlet
epaulets shine brightest, and his little modest
gray wife is sitting on the nest, built on rushes
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A PARADISE OF BIRDS

in a swamp, he sits on a near-by oak and de
votedly sings almost all day. His rich simple
strain is baumpalee, baumpalee, or bobalee as
interpreted by some. In summer, after nesting
cares are over, they assemble in flocks of hun
dreds and thousands to feast on Indian corn
when it is in the milk. Scattering over a field,
each selects an ear, strips the husk down far
enough to lay bare an inch or two of the end
of it, enjoys an exhilarating feast, and after all
are full they rise simultaneously with a quick
birr of wings like an old-fashioned church con
gregation fluttering to their feet when the min
ister after giving out the hymn says, "Let the
congregation arise and sing." Alighting on
near-by trees, they sing with a hearty vengeance,
bursting out without any puttering prelude in
gloriously glad concert, hundreds or thousands
of exulting voices with sweet gurgling baumpa-
lees mingled with chippy vibrant and exploding
globules of musical notes, making a most enthu
siastic, indescribable joy-song, a combination
unlike anything to be heard elsewhere in the
bird kingdom; something like bagpipes, flutes,
violins, pianos, and human-like voices all
bursting and bubbling at once. Then suddenly
some one of the joyful congregation shouts
Chirr! Chirr! and all stop as if shot.
The sweet- voiced meadowlark with its placid,

115

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

simple song of peery-eery-6dical was another
favorite, and we soon learned to admire the
Baltimore oriole and its wonderful hanging
nests, and the scarlet tanager glowing like fire
amid the green leaves.

But no singer of them all got farther into
our hearts than the little speckle-breasted song
sparrow, one of the first to arrive and begin
nest-building and singing. The richness, sweet
ness, and pathos of this small darling's song as
he sat on a low bush often brought tears to our
eyes.

The little cheery, modest chickadee midget,
loved by every innocent boy and girl, man and
woman, and by many not altogether innocent,
was one of the first of the birds to attract our
attention, drawing nearer and nearer to us as
the winter advanced, bravely singing his faint
silvery, lisping, tinkling notes ending with a
bright dee, dee, dee ! however frosty the weather.

The nuthatches, who also stayed all winter
with us, were favorites with us boys. We loved
to watch them as they traced the bark-furrows
of the oaks and hickories head downward,
deftly flicking off loose scales and splinters in
search of insects, and braving the coldest
weather as if their little sparks of life were as
safely warm in winter as in summer, unquench
able by the severest frost. With the help of the
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A PARADISE OF BIRDS

chickadees they made a delightful stir in the
solemn winter days, and when we were out
chopping we never ceased to wonder how their
slender naked toes could be kept warm when
our own were so painfully frosted though clad
in thick socks and boots. And we wondered
and admired the more when we thought of the
little midgets sleeping in knot-holes when the
temperature was far below zero, sometimes
thirty-five degrees below, and in the morning,
after a minute breakfast of a few frozen in
sects and hoarfrost crystals, playing and chat
ting in cheery tones as if food, weather, and
everything was according to their own warm
hearts. Our Yankee told us that the name of
this darling was Devil-do wnhead.

Their big neighbors the owls also made good
winter music, singing out loud in wild, gallant
strains bespeaking brave comfort, let the frost
bite as it might. The solemn hooting of the
species with the widest throat seemed to us the
very wildest of all the winter sounds.

Prairie chickens came strolling in family
flocks about the shanty, picking seeds and
grasshoppers like domestic fowls, and they
became still more abundant as wheat-and-corn-
fields were multiplied, but also wilder, of course,
when every shotgun in the country was aimed
at them. The booming of the males during the
117

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

mating-season was one of the loudest and
strangest of the early spring sounds, being
easily heard on calm mornings at a distance of
a half or three fourths of a mile. As soon as the
snow was off the ground, they assembled in
flocks of a dozen or two on an open spot, usu
ally on the side of a ploughed field, ruffled up
their feathers, inflated the curious colored
sacks on the sides of their necks, and strutted
about with queer gestures something like tur
key gobblers, uttering strange loud, rounded,
drumming calls, — boom! boom! boom! inter
rupted by choking sounds. My brother Daniel
caught one while she was sitting on her nest in
our corn-field. The young are just like domestic
chicks, run with the mother as soon as hatched,
and stay with her until autumn, feeding on the
ground, never taking wing unless disturbed.
In winter, when full-grown, they assemble in
large flocks, fly about sundown to selected
roosting-places on tall trees, and to feeding-
places in the morning, — unhusked corn-fields,
if any are to be found in the neighborhood, or
thickets of dwarf birch and willows, the buds
of which furnish a considerable part of their
food when snow covers the ground.

The wild rice-marshes along the Fox River
and around Pucaway Lake were the summer
homes of millions of ducks, and in the Indian
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A PARADISE OF BIRDS

summer, when the rice was ripe, they grew very
fat. The magnificent mallards in particular
afforded our Yankee neighbors royal feasts
almost without price, for often as many as a
half-dozen were killed at a shot, but we seldom
were allowed a single hour for hunting and so
got very few. The autumn duck season was a
glad time for the Indians also, for they feasted
and grew fat not only on the ducks but on the
wild rice, large quantities of which they gath
ered as they glided through the midst of the
generous crop in canoes, bending down hand-
fuls over the sides, and beating out the grain
with small paddles.

The warmth of the deep spring fountains of
the creek in our meadow kept it open all the
year, and a few pairs of wood ducks, the most
beautiful, we thought, of all the ducks, win
tered in it. I well remember the first speci
men I ever saw. Father shot it in the creek dur
ing a snowstorm, brought it into the house, and
called us around him, saying: "Come, bairns,
and admire the work of God displayed in this
bonnie bird. Naebody but God could paint
feathers like these. Juist look at the colors,
hoo they shine, and hoo fine they overlap and
blend thegether like the colors o' the rain
bow. " And we all agreed that never, never be
fore had we seen so awfu' bonnie a bird. A

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MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

pair nested every year in the hollow top of an
oak stump about fifteen feet high that stood on
the side of the meadow, and we used to won
der how they got the fluffy young ones down
from the nest and across the meadow to the
lake when they were only helpless, featherless
midgets; whether the mother carried them to
the water on her back or in her mouth. I never
saw the thing done or found anybody who had
until this summer, when Mr. Holabird, a keen
observer, told me that he once saw the mother
carry them from the nest tree in her mouth,
quickly coming and going to a near-by stream,
and in a few minutes get them all together
and proudly sail away.

Sometimes a flock of swans were seen passing
over at a great height on their long journeys,
and we admired their clear bugle notes, but
they seldom visited any of the lakes in our
neighborhood, so seldom that when they did
it was talked of for years. One was shot by
a blacksmith on a millpond with a long-range
Sharp's rifle, and many of the neighbors went
far to see it.

The common gray goose, Canada honker,
flying in regular harrow-shaped flocks, was one
of the wildest and wariest of all the large birds
that enlivened the spring and autumn. They
seldom ventured to alight in our small lake,

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A PARADISE OF BIRDS

fearing, I suppose, that hunters might be con
cealed in the rushes ; but on account of their
fondness for the young leaves of winter wheat
when they were a few inches high, they often
alighted on our fields when passing on their
way south, and occasionally even in our corn
fields when a snowstorm was blowing and they
were hungry and wing-weary, with nearly an
inch of snow on their backs. In such times of
distress we used to pity them, even while trying
to get a shot at them. They were exceedingly
cautious and circumspect; usually flew several
times round the adjacent thickets and fences
to make sure that no enemy was near before
settling down, and one always stood on guard,
relieved from time to time, while the flock was
feeding. Therefore there was no chance to
creep up on them unobserved; you had to be
well hidden before the flock arrived. It was the
ambition of boys to be able to shoot these wary
birds. I never got but two, both of them at one
so-called lucky shot. When I ran to pick them
up, one of them flew away, but as the poor
fellow was sorely wounded he did n't fly far.
When I caught him after a short chase, he
uttered a piercing cry of terror and despair,
which the leader of the flock heard at a distance
of about a hundred rods. They had flown off in
frightened disorder, of course, but had got into

121

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

the regular harrow-shape order when the leader
heard the cry, and I shall never forget how
bravely he left his place at the head of the flock
and hurried back screaming and struck at me
in trying to save his companion. I dodged down
and held my hands over my head, and thus
escaped a blow of his elbows. Fortunately I
had left my gun at the fence, and the life of this
noble bird was spared after he had risked it in
trying to save his wounded friend or neighbor
or family relation. For so shy a bird boldly to
attack a hunter showed wonderful sympathy
and courage. This is one of my strangest hunt
ing experiences. Never before had I regarded
wild geese as dangerous, or capable of such
noble self-sacrificing devotion.

The loud clear call of the handsome bob-
whites was one of the pleasantest and most
characteristic of our spring sounds, and we
soon learned to imitate it so well that a bold
cock often accepted our challenge and came
flying to fight. The young run as soon as they
are hatched and follow their parents until
spring, roosting on the ground in a close bunch,
heads out ready to scatter and fly. These fine
birds were seldom seen when we first arrived
in the wilderness, but when wheat-fields sup
plied abundance of food they multiplied very
fast, although oftentimes sore pressed during

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A PARADISE OF BIRDS

hard winters when the snow reached a depth of
two or three feet, covering then- food, while the
mercury fell to twenty or thirty degrees below
zero. Occasionally, although shy on account of
being persistently hunted, under pressure of
extreme hunger in the very coldest weather
when the snow was deepest they ventured into
barnyards and even approached the doorsteps
of houses, searching for any sort of scraps and
crumbs, as if piteously begging for food. One
of our neighbors saw a flock come creeping up
through the snow, unable to fly, hardly able to
walk, and while approaching the door several
of them actually fell down and died; showing
that birds, usually so vigorous and apparently
independent of fortune, suffer and lose their
lives in extreme weather like the rest of us,
frozen to death like settlers caught in blizzards.
None of our neighbors perished in storms,
though many had feet, ears, and fingers frost-
nipped or solidly frozen.

As soon as the lake ice melted, we heard the
lonely cry of the loon, one of the wildest and
most striking of all the wilderness sounds, a
strange, sad, mournful, unearthly cry, half
laughing, half wailing. Nevertheless the great
northern diver, as our species is called, is a
brave, hardy, beautiful bird, able to fly under
water about as well as above it, and to spear
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MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

and capture the swiftest fishes for food. Those
that haunted our lake were so wary none was
shot for years, though every boy hunter in the
neighborhood was ambitious to get one to
prove his skill. On one of our bitter cold New
Year holidays I was surprised to see a loon in
the small open part of the lake at the mouth
of the inlet that was kept from freezing by the
warm spring water. I knew that it could not
fly out of so small a place, for these heavy birds
have to beat the water for half a mile or so be
fore they can get fairly on the wing. Their nar
row, finlike wings are very small as compared
with the weight of the body and are evidently
made for flying through water as well as through
the air, and it is by means of their swift flight
through the water and the swiftness of the blow
they strike with their long, spear-like bills that
they are able to capture the fishes on which
they feed. I ran down the meadow with the
gun, got into my boat, and pursued that poor
winter-bound straggler. Of course he dived
again and again, but had to come up to breathe,
and I at length got a quick shot at his head and
slightly wounded or stunned him, caught him,
and ran proudly back to the house with my
prize. I carried him in my arms; he didn't
struggle to get away or offer to strike me, and
when I put him on the floor in front of the

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A PARADISE OF BIRDS

kitchen stove, he just rested quietly on his
belly as noiseless and motionless as if he were a
stuffed specimen on a shelf, held his neck erect,
gave no sign of suffering from any wound, and
though he was motionless, his small black eyes
seemed to be ever keenly watchful. His formi
dable bill, very sharp, three or three and a half
inches long, and shaped like a pickaxe, was held
perfectly level. But the wonder was that he did
not struggle or make the slightest movement.
We had a tortoise-shell cat, an old Tom of great
experience, who was so fond of lying under the
stove in frosty weather that it was difficult even
to poke him out with a broom; but when he saw
and smelled that strange big fishy, black and
white, speckledy bird, the like of which he
had never before seen, he rushed wildly to the
farther corner of the kitchen, looked back
cautiously and suspiciously, and began to make
a careful study of the handsome but dangerous-
looking stranger. Becoming more and more
curious and interested, he at length advanced
a step or two for a nearer view and nearer
smell; and as the wonderful bird kept abso
lutely motionless, he was encouraged to venture
gradually nearer and nearer until within per
haps five or six feet of its breast. Then the
wary loon, not liking Tom's looks in so near a
view, which perhaps recalled to his mind the
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MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

plundering minks and muskrats he had to fight
when they approached his nest, prepared to
defend himself by slowly, almost imperceptibly
drawing back his long pickaxe bill, and without
the slightest fuss or stir held it level and ready
just over his tail. With that dangerous bill
drawn so far back out of the way, Tom's con
fidence in the stranger's peaceful intentions
seemed almost complete, and, thus encouraged,
he at last ventured forward with wondering,
questioning eyes and quivering nostrils until
he was only eighteen or twenty inches from the
loon's smooth white breast. When the beautiful
bird, apparently as peaceful and inoffensive as
a flower, saw that his hairy yellow enemy had
arrived at the right distance, the loon, who evi
dently was a fine judge of the reach of his spear,
'shot it forward quick as a lightning-flash, in
marvelous contrast to the wonderful slowness
of the preparatory poising, backward motion.
The ami was true to a hairbreadth. Tom was
struck right in the centre of his forehead, be
tween the eyes. I thought his skull was cracked.
Perhaps it was. The sudden astonishment of
that outraged cat, the virtuous indignation
and wrath, terror, and pain, are far beyond
description. His eyes and screams and desper
ate retreat told all that. When the blow was
received, he made a noise that I never heard a

126

A PARADISE OF BIRDS

cat make before or since; an awfully deep, con
densed, screechy, explosive Wuck ! as he bounced
straight up in the ah* like a bucking bronco;
and when he alighted after his spring, he
rushed madly across the room and made
frantic efforts to climb up the hard-finished
plaster wall. Not satisfied to get the width of
the kitchen away from his mysterious enemy,
for the first tune that cold winter he tried to
get out of the house, anyhow, anywhere out of
that loon-infested room. When he finally ven
tured to look back and saw that the barbarous
bird was still there, tranquil and motionless in
front of the stove, he regained command of
some of his shattered senses and carefully com
menced to examine his wound. Backed against
the wall in the farthest corner, and keeping his
eye on the outrageous bird, he tenderly touched
and washed the sore spot, wetting his paw with
his tongue, pausing now and then as his cour
age increased to glare and stare and growl at
his enemy with looks and tones wonderfully
human, as if saying: "You confounded fishy,
unfair rascal! What did you do that for? What
had I done to you? Faithless, legless, long-
nosed wretch!" Intense experiences like the
above bring out the humanity that is in all
animals. One touch of nature, even a cat-and-
loon touch, makes all the world kin.
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MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

It was a great memorable day when the first
flock of passenger pigeons came to our farm,
calling to mind the story we had read about
them when we were at school in Scotland. Of
all God's feathered people that sailed the Wis
consin sky, no other bird seemed to us so won
derful. The beautiful wanderers flew like the
winds in flocks of millions from climate to
climate in accord with the weather, finding
their food — acorns, beechnuts, pine-nuts, cran
berries, strawberries, huckleberries, juniper
berries, hackberries, buckwheat, rice, wheat,
oats, corn — in fields and forests thousands of
miles apart. I have seen flocks streaming south
hi the fall so large that they were flowing over
from horizon to horizon in an almost continuous
stream all day long, at the rate of forty or fifty
miles an hour, like a mighty river in the sky,
widening, contracting, descending like falls and
cataracts, and rising suddenly here and there in
huge ragged masses like high-plashing spray.
How wonderful the distances they flew in a
day — in a year — in a lifetime ! They arrived
in Wisconsin in the spring just after the sun
had cleared away the snow, and alighted in the
woods to feed on the fallen acorns that they
had missed the previous autumn. A compara
tively small flock swept thousands of acres
perfectly clean of acorns hi a few minutes, by

128

A PARADISE OF BIRDS

moving straight ahead with a broad front. All
got their share, for the rear constantly became
the van by flying over the flock and alighting
in front, the entire flock constantly changing
from rear to front, revolving something like a
wheel with a low buzzing wing roar that could
be heard a long way off. In summer they feasted
on wheat and oats and were easily approached
as they rested on the trees along the sides of
the field after a good full meal, displaying
beautiful iridescent colors as they moved their
necks backward and forward when we went
very near them. Every shotgun was aimed at
them and everybody feasted on pigeon pies,
and not a few of the settlers feasted also on the
beauty of the wonderful birds. The breast of
the male is a fine rosy red, the lower part of the
neck behind and along the sides changing from
the red of the breast to gold, emerald green and
rich crimson. The general color of the upper
parts is grayish blue, the under parts white.
The extreme length of the bird is about seven
teen inches; the finely modeled slender tail
about eight inches, and extent of wings twenty-
four inches. The females are scarcely less
beautiful. "Oh, what bonnie, bonnie birds!"
we exclaimed over the first that fell into our
hands. "Oh, what colors! Look at their
breasts, bonnie as roses, and at their necks
129

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

aglow wi' every color juist like the wonderfu'
wood ducks. Oh, the bonnie, bonnie creatures,
they beat a' ! Where did they a' come f ra, and
where are they a7 gan? It 's awfu' like a sin to
kill them!" To this some smug, practical old
sinner would remark: " Aye, it's a peety, as ye
say, to kill the bonnie things, but they were
made to be killed, and sent for us to eat as
the quails were sent to God's chosen people,
the Israelites, when they were starving in the
desert ayont the Red Sea. And I must confess
that meat was never put up in neater, hand
somer-painted packages."

In the New England and Canada woods
beechnuts were their best and most abundant
food, farther north, cranberries and huckle
berries. After everything was cleaned up in the
north and winter was coming on, they went
south for rice, corn, acorns, haws, wild grapes,
crab-apples, sparkle-berries, etc. They seemed
to require more than half of the continent for
feeding-grounds, moving from one table to
another, field to field, forest to forest, finding
something ripe and wholesome all the year
round. In going south in the fine Indian-
summer weather they flew high and followed
one another, though the head of the flock
might be hundreds of miles in advance. But
against head winds they took advantage of the

130

A PARADISE OF BIRDS

inequalities of the ground, flying comparatively
low. All followed the leader's ups and downs
over hill and dale though far out of sight, never
hesitating at any turn of the way, vertical or
horizontal that the leaders had taken, though
the largest flocks stretched across several
States, and belts of different kinds of weather.

There were no roosting- or breeding-places
near our farm, and I never saw any of them
until long after the great flocks were extermi
nated. I therefore quote, from Audubon's and
Pokagon's vivid descriptions.

"Toward evening," Audubon says, "they
depart for the roosting-place, which may be
hundreds of miles distant. One on the banks of
Green River, Kentucky, was over three miles
wide and forty long."

"My first view of it," says the great natural
ist, "was about a fortnight after it had been
chosen by the birds, and I arrived there nearly
two hours before sunset. Few pigeons were
then to be seen, but a great many persons
with horses and wagons and armed with guns,
long poles, sulphur pots, pine pitch torches, etc.,
had already established encampments on the
borders. Two fanners had driven upwards of
three hundred hogs a distance of more than a
hundred miles to be fattened on slaughtered
pigeons. Here and there the people employed

131

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

in plucking and salting what had already been
secured were sitting in the midst of piles of
birds. Dung several inches thick covered the
ground. Many trees two feet in diameter were
broken off at no great distance from the ground,
and the branches of many of the tallest and
largest had given way, as if the forest had been
swept by a tornado.

" Not a pigeon had arrived at sundown. Sud
denly a general cry arose — 'Here they come!'
The noise they made, though still distant, re
minded me of a hard gale at sea passing through
the rigging of a close-reefed ship. Thousands
were soon knocked down by the pole-men. The
birds continued to pour in. The fires were
lighted and a magnificent as well as terrifying
sight presented itself. The pigeons pouring in
alighted everywhere, one above another, until
solid masses were formed on the branches all
around. Here and there the perches gave way
with a crash, and falling destroyed hundreds
beneath, forcing down the dense groups with
which every stick was loaded; a scene of uproar
and conflict. I found it useless to speak or
even to shout to those persons nearest me.
Even the reports of the guns were seldom
heard, and I was made aware of the firing only
by seeing the shooters reloading. None dared
venture within the line of devastation. The
132

A PARADISE OF BIRDS

hogs had been penned up in due time, the pick
ing up of the dead and wounded being left for
the next morning's employment. The pigeons
were constantly coming in and it was after
midnight before I perceived a decrease in the
number of those that arrived. The uproar con
tinued all night, and, anxious to know how far
the sound reached I sent off a man who, return
ing two hours after, informed me that he had
heard it distinctly three miles distant.

"Toward daylight the noise in some measure
subsided; long before objects were distinguish
able the pigeons began to move off in a direc
tion quite different from that in which they had
arrived the evening before, and at sunrise all
that were able to fly had disappeared. The
howling of the wolves now reached our ears,
and the foxes, lynxes, cougars, bears, coons,
opossums, and polecats were seen sneaking
off, while eagles and hawks of different species,
accompanied by a crowd of vultures, came to
supplant them and enjoy a share of the spoil.

"Then the authors of all this devastation
began their entry amongst the dead, the dying
and mangled. The pigeons were picked up
and piled in heaps until each had as many as
they could possibly dispose of, when the hogs
were let loose to feed on the remainder.

"The breeding-places are selected with refer-

133

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

ence to abundance of food, and countless
myriads resort to them. At this period the note
of the pigeon is coo coo coo, like that of the
domestic species but much shorter. They
caress by billing, and during incubation the
male supplies the female with food. As the
young grow, the tyrant of creation appears to
disturb the peaceful scene, armed with axes
to chop down the squab-laden trees, and the
abomination of desolation and destruction
produced far surpasses even that of the roosting
places."

Pokagon, an educated Indian writer, says:
"I saw one nesting-place in Wisconsin one
hundred miles long and from three to ten miles
wide. Every tree, some of them quite low and
scrubby, had from one to fifty nests on each.
Some of the nests overflow from the oaks to the
hemlock and pine woods. When the pigeon
hunters attack the breeding-places they some
times cut the timber from thousands of acres.
Millions are caught in nets with salt or grain
for bait, and schooners, sometimes loaded down
with the birds, are taken to New York, where
they are sold for a cent apiece."

CHAPTER V

YOUNG HUNTERS

IN the older eastern States it used to be
considered great sport for an army of boys to
assemble to hunt birds, squirrels, and every
other unclaimed, unprotected live thing of
shootable size. They divided into two squads,
and, choosing leaders, scattered through the
woods in different directions, and the party
that killed the greatest number enjoyed a sup
per at the expense of the other. The whole
neighborhood seemed to enjoy the shameful
sport, especially the farmers afraid of their
crops. With a great air of importance, laws
were enacted to govern the gory business. For
example, a gray squirrel must count four heads,
a woodchuck six heads, common red squirrel
two heads, black squirrel ten heads, a partridge
five heads, the larger birds, such as whip-
poor-wills and nighthawks two heads each,
the wary crows three, and bob-whites three.
But all the blessed company of mere song
birds, warblers, robins, thrushes, orioles, with
nuthatches, chickadees, blue jays, woodpeckers,
etc., counted only one head each. The heads
of the birds were hastily wrung off and thrust
135

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

into the game-bags to be counted, saving the
bodies only of what were called game, the
larger squirrels, bob-whites, partridges, etc.
The blood-stained bags of the best slayers
were soon bulging full. Then at a given hour
all had to stop and repair to the town, empty
their dripping sacks, count the heads, and go
rejoicing to their dinner. Although, like other
wild boys, I was fond of shooting, I never had
anything to do with these abominable head
hunts. And now the farmers having learned
that birds are their friends wholesale slaughter
has been abolished.

We seldom saw deer, though their tracks
were 'common. The Yankee explained that
they traveled and fed mostly at night, and hid
in tamarack swamps and brushy places in the
daytime, and how the Indians knew all about
them and could find them whenever they were
hungry.

Indians belonging to the Menominee and
Winnebago tribes occasionally visited us at our
cabin to get a piece of bread or some matches,
or to sharpen their knives on our grindstone,
and we boys watched them closely to see that
they did n't steal Jack. We wondered at their
knowledge of animals when we saw them go
direct to trees on our farm, chop holes in them
with their tomahawks and take out coons, of
136

YOUNG HUNTERS

the existence of which we had never noticed
the slightest trace. In winter, after the first
snow, we frequently saw three or four Indians
hunting deer in company, running like hounds
on the fresh, exciting tracks. The escape of the
deer from these noiseless, tireless hunters was
said to be well-nigh impossible; they were fol
lowed to the death.

Most of our neighbors brought some sort of
gun from the old country, but seldom took time
to hunt, even after the first hard work of fenc
ing and clearing was over, except to shoot a
duck or prairie chicken now and then that hap
pened to come in their way. It was only the less
industrious American settlers who left their
work to go far a-hunting. Two or three of our
most enterprising American neighbors went off
every fall with their teams to the pine regions
and cranberry marshes in the northern part of
the State to hunt and gather berries. I well
remember seeing their wagons loaded with
game when they returned from a successful
hunt. Their loads consisted usually of half a
dozen deer or more, one or two black bears,
and fifteen or twenty bushels of cranberries ; all
solidly frozen. Part of both the berries and
meat was usually sold in Portage; the balance
furnished their families with abundance of
venison, bear grease, and pies.
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MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

Winter wheat is sown in the fall, and when
it is a month or so old the deer, like the wild
geese, are very fond of it, especially since other
kinds of food are then becoming scarce. One
of our neighbors across the Fox River killed a
large number, some thirty or forty, on a small
patch of wheat, simply by lying in wait for
them every night. Our wheat-field was the
first that was sown in the neighborhood. The
deer soon found it and came in every night to
feast, but it was eight or nine years before we
ever disturbed them. David then killed one
deer, the only one killed by any of our family.
He went out shortly after sundown at the time
of full moon to one of our wheat-fields, carrying
a double-barreled shotgun loaded with buck
shot. After lying in wait an hour or so, he saw
a doe and her fawn jump the fence and come
cautiously into the wheat. After they were
within sixty or seventy yards of him, he was
surprised when he tried to take aim that about
half of the moon's disc was mysteriously dark
ened as if covered by the edge of a dense cloud.
This proved to be an eclipse. Nevertheless, he
fired at the mother, and she immediately ran
off, jumped the fence, and took to the woods by
the way she came. The fawn danced about
bewildered, wondering what had become of its
mother, but finally fled to the woods. David
138

YOUNG HUNTERS

fired at the poor deserted thing as it ran past
him but happily missed it. Hearing the shots,
I joined David to learn his luck. He said he
thought he must have wounded the mother,
and when we were strolling about in the woods
in search of her we saw three or four deer on
their way to the wheat-field, led by a fine buck.
They were walking rapidly, but cautiously
halted at intervals of a few rods to listen and
look ahead and scent the air. They failed to
notice us, though by this time the moon was
out of the eclipse shadow and we were standing
only about fifty yards from them. I was carry
ing the gun. David had fired both barrels but
when he was reloading one of them he happened
to put the wad intended to cover the shot into
the empty barrel, and so when we were climb
ing over the fence the buckshot had rolled out,
and when I fired at the big buck I knew by the
report that there was nothing but powder in the
charge. The startled deer danced about in
confusion for a few seconds, uncertain which
way to run until they caught sight of us, when
they bounded off through the woods. Next
morning we found the poor mother lying about
three hundred yards from the place where she
was shot. She had run this distance and jumped
a high fence after one of the buckshot had
passed through her heart.
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MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

Excepting Sundays we boys had only two
days of the year to ourselves, the 4th of July
and the 1st of January. Sundays were less
than half our own, on account of Bible lessons,
Sunday-school lessons and church services; all
the others were labor days, rain or shine, cold
or warm. No wonder, then, that our two holi
days were precious and that it was not easy to
decide what to do with them. They were usu
ally spent on the highest rocky hill in the neigh
borhood, called the Observatory; in visiting
our boy friends on adjacent farms to hunt, fish,
wrestle, and play games; in reading some new
favorite book we had managed to borrow or
buy; or in making models of machines I had
invented.

One of our July days was spent with two
Scotch boys of our own age hunting redwing
blackbirds then busy in the corn-fields. Our
party had only one single-barreled shotgun,
which, as the oldest and perhaps because I was
thought to be the best shot, I had the honor of
carrying. We marched through the corn with
out getting sight of a single redwing, but just
as we reached the far side of the field, a red
headed woodpecker flew up, and the Lawson
boys cried: " Shoot him! Shoot him! he is just
as bad as a blackbird. He eats corn!" This
memorable woodpecker alighted in the top of a

140

BAROMETER
Invented by the author in his boyhood

YOUNG HUNTERS

white oak tree about fifty feet high. I fired
from a position almost immediately beneath
him, and he fell straight down at my feet.
When I picked him up and was admiring his
plumage, he moved his legs slightly, and I said,
"Poor bird, he's no deed yet and we'll hae to
kill him to put him oot o' pain," - sincerely
pitying him, after we had taken pleasure in
shooting him. I had seen servant girls wringing
chicken necks, so with desperate humanity I
took the limp unfortunate by the head, swung
him around three or four times thinking I was
wringing his neck, and then threw him hard on
the ground to quench the last possible spark of
life and make quick death doubly sure. But to
our astonishment the moment he struck the
ground he gave a cry of alarm and flew right
straight up like a rejoicing lark into the top of
the same tree, and perhaps to the same branch
he had fallen from, and began to adjust his
ruffled feathers, nodding and chirping and look
ing down at us as if wondering what in the bird
world we had been doing to him. This of course
banished all thought of killing, as far as that
revived woodpecker was concerned, no matter
how many ears of corn he might spoil, and we all
heartily congratulated him on his wonderful,
triumphant resurrection from three kinds of
death, — shooting, neck-wringing, and destruc-
141

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

tive concussion. I suppose only one pellet had
touched him, glancing on his head.

Another extraordinary shooting-affair hap
pened one summer morning shortly after day
break. When I went to the stable to feed the
horses I noticed a big white-breasted hawk on
a tall oak in front of the chicken-house, evi
dently waiting for a chicken breakfast. I ran
to the house for the gun, and when I fired he
fell about halfway down the tree, caught a
branch with his claws, hung back downward
and fluttered a few seconds, then managed to
stand erect. I fired again to put him out of
pain, and to my surprise the second shot seemed
to restore his strength instead of killing him,
for he flew out of the tree and over the meadow
with strong and regular wing-beats for thirty
or forty rods apparently as well as ever, but
died suddenly in the air and dropped like a
stone.

We hunted muskrats whenever we had tune
to run down to the lake. They are brown
bunchy animals about twenty-three inches
long, the tail being about nine inches in length,
black in color and flattened vertically for scull
ing, and the hind feet are half-webbed. They
look like little beavers, usually have from ten
to a dozen young, are easily tamed and make
interesting pets. We liked to watch them -at

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YOUNG HUNTERS

their work and at their meals. In the spring
when the snow vanishes and the lake ice begins
to melt, the first open spot is always used as a
feeding-place, where they dive from the edge of
the ice and in a minute or less reappear with a
mussel or a mouthful of pontederia or water-
lily leaves, climb back on to the ice and sit up
to nibble their food, handling it very much like
squirrels or marmots. It is then that they are
most easily shot, a solitary hunter oftentimes
shooting thirty or forty in a single day. Their
nests on the rushy margins of lakes and streams,
far from being hidden like those of most birds,
are conspicuously large, and conical in shape
like Indian wigwams. They are built of plants
— rushes, sedges, mosses, etc. — and orna
mented around the base with mussel-shells. It
was always pleasant and interesting to see them
in the fall as soon as the nights began to be
frosty, hard at work cutting sedges on the edge
of the meadow or swimming out through the
rushes, making long glittering ripples as they
sculled themselves along, diving where the
water is perhaps six or eight feet deep and
reappearing in a minute or so with large mouth-
fuls of the weedy tangled plants gathered from
the bottom, returning to their big wigwams,
climbing up and depositing their loads where
most needed to make them yet larger and firmer

143

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

and warmer, foreseeing the freezing weather
just like ourselves when we banked up our
house to keep out the frost.

They lie snug and invisible all winter but do
not hibernate. Through a channel carefully
kept open they swim out under the ice for mus
sels, and the roots and stems of water-lilies,
etc., on which they feed just as they do in sum
mer. Sometimes the oldest and most enterpris
ing of them venture to orchards near the water
in search of fallen apples; very seldom, how
ever, do they interfere with anything belonging
to their mortal enemy, man. Notwithstanding
they are so well hidden and protected during
the winter, many of them are killed by Indian
hunters, who creep up softly and spear them
through the thick walls of their cabins. Indians
are fond of their flesh, and so are some of the
wildest of the white trappers. They are easily
caught in steel traps, and after vainly trying
to drag their feet from the cruel crushing jaws,
they sometimes in their agony gnaw them off.
Even after having gnawed off a leg they are so
guileless that they never seem to learn to know
and fear traps, for some are occasionally found
that have been caught twice and have gnawed
off a second foot. Many other animals suffering
excruciating pain in these cruel traps gnaw off
their legs. Crabs and lobsters are so fortunate
144

YOUNG HUNTERS

as to be able to shed their limbs when caught
or merely frightened, apparently without suf
fering any pain, simply by giving themselves
a little shivery shake.

The muskrat is one of the most notable and
widely distributed of American animals, and
millions of the gentle, industrious, beaver-like
creatures are shot and trapped and speared
every season for their skins, worth a dime or
so — like shooting boys and girls for their
garments.

Surely a better time must be drawing nigh
when godlike human beings will become truly
humane, and learn to put their animal fellow
mortals in their hearts instead of on their
backs or in their dinners. In the mean time we
may just as well as not learn to live clean,
innocent lives instead of slimy, bloody ones.
All hale, red-blooded boys are savage, the best J
and boldest the savagest, fond of hunting and
fishing. But when thoughtless childhood is
past, the best rise the highest above all this
bloody flesh and sport business, the wild foun-
dational animal dying out day by day, as divine
uplifting, transfiguring charity grows in.

Hares and rabbits were seldom seen when

we first settled in the Wisconsin woods, but

they multiplied rapidly after the animals that

preyed upon them had been thinned out or

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MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

exterminated, and food and shelter supplied
in grain-fields and log fences and the thickets
of young oaks that grew up in pastures after
the annual grass fires were kept out. Catching
hares in the winter-time, when they were hid
den in hollow fence-logs, was a favorite pastime
with many of the boys whose fathers allowed
them tune to enjoy the sport. Occasionally a
stout, lithe hare was carried out into an open
snow-covered field, set free, and given a chance
for its life in a race with a dog. When the snow
was not too soft and deep, it usually made good
its escape, for our dogs were only fat, short-
legged mongrels. We sometimes discovered
hares in standing hollow trees, crouching on
decayed punky wood at the bottom, as far back
as possible from the opening, but when alarmed
they managed to climb to a considerable height
if the hollow was not too wide, by bracing them
selves against the sides.

Foxes, though not uncommon, we boys held
steadily to work seldom saw, and as they found
plenty of prairie chickens for themselves and
families, they did not often come near the
farmer's hen-roosts. Nevertheless the discov
ery of their dens was considered important.
No matter how deep the den might be, it was
thoroughly explored with pick and shovel by
sport-loving settlers at a time when they judged
146

YOUNG, HUNTERS

the fox was likely to be at home, but I cannot
remember any case in OUT neighborhood where
the fox was actually captured. In one of the
dens a mile or two from our farm a lot of
prairie chickens were found and some smaller
birds.

Badger dens were far more common than fox
dens. One of our fields was named Badger Hill
from the number of badger holes in a hill at
the end of it, but I cannot remember seeing a
single one of the inhabitants.

On a stormy day in the middle of an unusu
ally severe winter, a black bear, hungry, no
doubt, and seeking something to eat, came
strolling down through our neighborhood from
the northern pine woods. None had been seen
here before, and it caused no little excitement
and alarm, for the European settlers imagined
that these poor, timid, bashful bears were as
dangerous as man-eating lions and tigers, and
that they would pursue any human being that
came in then- way. This species is common hi
the north part of the State, and few of our
enterprising Yankee hunters who went to the
pineries hi the fall failed to shoot at least one
of them.

We saw very little of the owlish, serious-
looking coons, and no wonder, since they lie
hidden nearly all day in hollow trees and we
147

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

never had time to hunt them. We often heard
their curious, quavering, whinnying cries on
still evenings, but only once succeeded in trac
ing an unfortunate family through our corn
field to their den in a big oak and catching them
all. One of our neighbors, Mr. McRath, a
Highland Scotchman, caught one and made a
pet of it. It became very tame and had perfect
confidence in the good intentions of its kind
friend and master. He always addressed it in
speaking to it as a " little man." When it
came running to him and jumped on his lap
or climbed up his trousers, he would say, while
patting its head as if it were a dog or a child,
"Coonie, ma mannie, Coonie, ma mannie, hoo
are ye the day? I think you're hungry," - as
the comical pet began to examine his pockets
for nuts and bits of bread, — "Na, na, there's
nathing in my pooch for ye the day, my wee
mannie, but I'll get ye something." He would
then fetch something it liked — bread, nuts, a
carrot, or perhaps a piece of fresh meat. Any
thing scattered for it on the floor it felt with
its paw instead of looking at it, judging of its
worth more by touch than sight.

The outlet of our Fountain Lake flowed past

Mr. McRath's door, and the coon was very

fond of swimming in it and searching for frogs

and mussels. It seemed perfectly satisfied to

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YOUNG HUNTERS

stay about the house without being confined,
occupied a comfortable bed in a section of a
hollow tree, and never wandered far. How long
it lived after the death of its kind master I
don't know.

I suppose that almost any wild animal may
be made a pet, simply by sympathizing with
it and entering as much as possible into its life.
In Alaska I saw one of the common gray moun
tain marmots kept as a pet in an Indian family.
When its master entered the house it always
seemed glad, almost like a dog, and when cold
or tired it snuggled up in a fold of his blanket
with the utmost confidence.

We have all heard of ferocious animals, lions
and tigers, etc., that were fed and spoken to
only by their masters, becoming perfectly tame;
and, as is well known, the faithful dog that
follows man and serves him, and looks up to
him and loves him as if he were a god, is a
descendant of the blood-thirsty wolf or jackal.
Even frogs and toads and fishes may be tamed,
provided they have the uniform sympathy of
one person, with whom they become intimately
acquainted without the distracting and varying
attentions of strangers. And surely all God's
people, however serious and savage, great or
small, like to play. Whales and elephants, danc
ing, humming gnats, and invisibly small mis-

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MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

chievous microbes, — all are warm with divine
radium and must have lots of fun in them.

As far as I know, all wild creatures keep them
selves clean. Birds, it seems to me, take more
pains to bathe and dress themselves than any
other animals. Even ducks, though living so
much in water, dip and scatter cleansing
showers over their backs, and shake and preen
their feathers as carefully as land-birds. Watch
ing small singers taking their morning baths is
very interesting, particularly when the weather
is cold. Alighting in a shallow pool, they often
times show a sort of dread of dipping into it,
like children hesitating about taking a plunge,
as if they felt the same kind of shock, and this
makes it easy for us to sympathize with the
little feathered people.

Occasionally I have seen from my study-
window red-headed linnets bathing in dew
when water elsewhere was scarce. A large
Monterey cypress with broad branches and
innumerable leaves on which the dew lodges
in still nights made favorite bathing-places.
Alighting gently, as if afraid to waste the dew,
they would pause and fidget as they do before
beginning to plash in pools, then dip and scatter
the drops in showers and get as thorough a
bath as they would in a pool. I have also seen
the same kind of baths taken by birds on the

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YOUNG HUNTERS

boughs of silver firs on the edge of a glacier
meadow, but nowhere have I seen the dew-
drops so abundant as on the Monterey cypress;
and the picture made by the quivering wings
and irised dew was memorably beautiful.
Children, too, make fine pictures plashing and
crowing in their little tubs. How widely differ
ent from wallowing pigs, bathing with great
show of comfort and rubbing themselves dry
against rough-barked trees!

Some of our own species seem fairly to dread
the touch of water. When the necessity of ab
solute cleanliness by means of frequent baths
was being preached by a friend who had been
reading Combe's Physiology, in which he had
learned something of the wonders of the skin
with its millions of pores that had to be kept
open for health, one of our neighbors remarked :
"Oh! that's unnatural. It's well enough to
wash in a tub maybe once or twice a year, but
not to be paddling in the water all the time like
a frpg in a spring-hole." Another neighbor,
who prided himself on his knowledge of big
words, said with great solemnity: " I never can
believe that man is amphibious!"

Natives of tropic islands pass a large part of
their lives in water, and seem as much at home
in the sea as on the land; swim and dive, pursue
fishes, play hi the waves like surf-ducks and

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MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

seals, and explore the coral gardens and groves
and seaweed meadows as if truly amphibious.
Even the natives of the far north bathe at
times. I once saw a lot of Eskimo boys ducking
and plashing right merrily in the Arctic Ocean.
It seemed very wonderful to us that the wild
animals could keep themselves warm and strong
in winter when the temperature was far below
zero. Feeble-looking rabbits scud away over
the snow, lithe and elastic, as if glorying in the
frosty, sparkling weather and sure of their din
ners. I have seen gray squirrels dragging ears of
corn about as heavy as themselves out of our
field through loose snow and up a tree, balancing
them on limbs and eating in comfort with their
dry, electric tails spread airily over their backs.
Once I saw a fine hardy fellow go into a knot
hole. Thrusting in my hand I caught him and
pulled him out. As soon as he guessed what I
was up to, he took the end of my thumb in his
mouth and sunk his teeth right through it, but
I gripped him hard by the neck, carried him
home, and shut him up in a box that contained
about half a bushel of hazel- and hickory-nuts,
hoping that he would not be too much fright
ened and discouraged to eat while thus impris
oned after the rough handling he had suffered.
I soon learned, however, that sympathy in this
direction was wasted, for no sooner did I pop

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YOUNG HUNTERS

him in than he fell to with right hearty appe
tite, gnawing and munching the nuts as if he
had gathered them himself and was very
hungry that day. Therefore, after allowing
tune enough for a good square meal, I made
haste to get him out of the nut-box and shut
him up in a spare bedroom, in which father
had hung a lot of selected ears of Indian corn
for seed. They were hung up by the husks on
cords stretched across from side to side of the
room. The squirrel managed to jump from the
top of one of the bed-posts to the cord, cut off
an ear, and let it drop to the floor. He then
jumped down, got a good grip of the heavy ear,
carried it to the top of one of the slippery,
polished bed-posts, seated himself comfortably,
and, holding it well balanced, deliberately
pried out one kernel at a time with his long
chisel teeth, ate the soft, sweet germ, and
dropped the hard part of the kernel. In this
masterly way, working at high speed, he demol
ished several ears a day, and with a good warm
bed in a box made himself at home and grew fat.
Then naturally, I suppose, free romping in the
snow and tree-tops with companions came to
mind. Anyhow he began to look for a way of
escape. Of course he first tried the window, but
found that his teeth made no impression on the
glass. Next he tried the sash and gnawed the
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MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

wood off level with the glass; then father hap
pened to come upstairs and discovered the
mischief that was being done to his seed corn
and window and immediately ordered him out
of the house.

The flying squirrel was one of the most inter
esting of the little animals we found in the
woods, a beautiful brown creature, with fine
eyes and smooth, soft fur like that of a mole or
field mouse. He is about half as long as the
gray squirrel, but his wide-spread tail and the
folds of skin along his sides that form the wings
make him look broad and flat, something like a
kite. In the evenings our cat often brought
them to her kittens at the shanty, and later
we saw them fly during the day from the trees
we were chopping. They jumped and glided
off smoothly and apparently without effort, like
birds, as soon as they heard and felt the break
ing shock of the strained fibers at the stump,
when the trees they were in began to totter and
groan. They can fly, or rather glide, twenty or
thirty yards from the top of a tree twenty or
thirty feet high to the foot of another, gliding
upward as they reach the trunk, or if the dis
tance is too great they alight comfortably on
the ground and make haste to the nearest
tree, and climb just like the wingless squirrels.

Every boy and girl loves the little fairy, airy
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YOUNG HUNTERS

striped chipmunk, half squirrel, half spermo-
phile. He is about the size of a field mouse, and
often made us think of linnets and song spar
rows as he frisked about gathering nuts and
berries. He likes almost all kinds of grain,
berries, and nuts, — hazel-nuts, hickory-nuts,
strawberries, huckleberries, wheat, oats, corn,
- he is fond of them all and thrives on them.
Most of the hazel bushes on our farm grew
along the fences as if they had been planted for
the chipmunks alone, for the rail fences were
their favorite highways. We never wearied
watching them, especially when the hazel-nuts
were ripe and the little fellows were sitting on
the rails nibbling and handling them like tree-
squirrels. We used to notice too that, although
they are very neat animals, their lips and fin
gers were dyed red like our own, when the straw
berries and huckleberries were ripe. We could
always tell when the wheat and oats were in
the milk by seeing the chipmunks feeding on
the ears. They kept nibbling at the wheat until
it was harvested and then gleaned in the stub
ble, keeping up a careful watch for their ene
mies, — dogs, hawks, and shrikes. They are as
widely distributed over the continent as the
squirrels, various species inhabiting different
regions on the mountains and lowlands, but all
the different kinds have the same general char-
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MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

acteristics of light, airy cheerfulness and good
nature.

Before the arrival of farmers in the Wiscon
sin woods the small ground squirrels, called
" gophers," lived chiefly on the seeds of wild
grasses and weeds, but after the country was
cleared and ploughed no feasting animal fell to
more heartily on the farmer's wheat and corn.
Increasing rapidly in numbers and knowledge,
they became very destructive, especially in the
spring when the corn was planted, for they
learned to trace the rows and dig up and eat the
three or four seeds in each hill about as fast as
the poor farmers could cover them. And unless
great pains were taken to diminish the numbers
of the cunning little robbers, the fields had to
be planted two or three times over, and even
then large gaps in the rows would be found.
The loss of the grain they consumed after it
was ripe, together with the winter stores laid
up in their burrows, amounted to little as com
pared with the loss of the seed on which the
whole crop depended.

One evening about sundown, when my father
sent me out with the shotgun to hunt them in a
stubble field, I learned something curious and
interesting in connection with these mischiev
ous gophers, though just then they were doing
no harm. As I strolled through the stubble

156

»

YOUNG HUNTERS

watching for a chance for a shot, a shrike flew
past me and alighted on an open spot at the
mouth of a burrow about thirty yards ahead of
me. Curious to see what he was up to, I stood
still to watch him. He looked down the gopher
hole in a listening attitude, then looked back
at me to see if I was coming, looked down again
and listened, and looked back at me. I stood
perfectly still, and he kept twitching his tail,
seeming uneasy and doubtful about venturing
to do the savage job that I soon learned he had
in his mind. Finally, encouraged by my keep
ing so still, to my astonishment he suddenly
vanished in the gopher hole.

A bird going down a deep narrow hole in the
ground like a ferret or a weasel seemed very
strange, and I thought it would be a fine thing
to run forward, clap my hand over the hole,
and have the fun of imprisoning him and seeing
what he would do when he tried to get out. So
I ran forward but stopped when I got within a
dozen or fifteen yards of the hole, thinking it
might perhaps be more interesting to wait and
see what would naturally happen without my
interference. While I stood there looking and
listening, I heard a great disturbance going on
in the burrow, a mixed lot of keen squeaking,
shrieking, distressful cries, telling that down
in the dark something terrible was being done.
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MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

Then suddenly out popped a half -grown gopher,
four and a half or five inches long, and, with
out stopping a single moment to choose a way
of escape, ran screaming through the stubble
straight away from its home, quickly followed
by another and another, until some half-dozen
were driven out, all of them crying and running
in different directions as if at this dreadful time
home, sweet home, was the most dangerous and
least desirable of any place in the wide world.
Then out came the shrike, flew above the run
away gopher children, and, diving on them,
killed them one after another with blows at the
back of the skull. He then seized one of them,
dragged it to the top of a small clod so as to be
able to get a start, and laboriously made out
to fly with it about ten or fifteen yards, when
he alighted to rest. Then he dragged it to the
top of another clod and flew with it about the
same distance, repeating this hard work over
and over again until he managed to get one
of the gophers on to the top of a log fence. How
much he ate of his hard-won prey, or what he
did with the others, I can't tell, for by this time
the sun was down and I had to hurry home to
my chores.

CHAPTER VI

THE PLOUGHBOY

AT first, wheat, corn, and potatoes were the
principal crops we raised; wheat especially.
But in four or five years the soil was so ex
hausted that only five or six bushels an acre,
even in the better fields, was obtained, although
when first ploughed twenty and twenty-five
bushels was about the ordinary yield. More
attention was then paid to corn, but without
fertilizers the corn-crop also became very
meager. At last it was discovered that English
clover would grow on even the exhausted
fields, and that when ploughed under and
planted with corn, or even wheat, wonderful
crops were raised. This caused a complete
change in farming methods; the farmers raised
fertilizing clover, planted corn, and fed the
crop to cattle and hogs.

But no crop raised in our wilderness was so
surprisingly rich and sweet and purely generous
to us boys and, indeed, to everybody as the
watermelons and muskmelons. We planted a
large patch on a sunny hill-slope the very first
spring, and it seemed miraculous that a few
handfuls of little flat seeds should in a few

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MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

months send up a hundred wagon-loads of
crisp, sumptuous, red-hearted and yellow-
hearted fruits covering all the hill. We soon
learned to know when they were in their prime,
and when over-ripe and mealy. Also that if a
second crop was taken from the same ground
without fertilizing it, the melons would be
small and what we called soapy; that is, soft
and smooth, utterly uncrisp, and without a
trace of the lively freshness and sweetness of
those raised on virgin soil. Coming in from
the farm work at noon, the half-dozen or so of
melons we had placed in our cold spring were
a glorious luxury that only weary barefooted
farm boys can ever know.

Spring was not very trying as to tempera
ture, and refreshing rains fell at short intervals.
The work of ploughing commenced as soon as
the frost was out of the ground. Corn- and
potato-planting and the sowing of spring wheat
was comparatively light work, while the nest
ing birds sang cheerily, grass and flowers cov
ered the marshes and meadows and all the wild,
uncleared parts of the farm, and the trees put
forth their new leaves, those of the oaks form
ing beautiful purple masses as if every leaf were
a petal; and with all this we enjoyed the mild
soothing winds, the humming of innumerable
small insects and hylas, and the freshness and
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THE PLOUGHBOY

fragrance of everything. Then, too, came the
wonderful passenger pigeons streaming from
the south, and flocks of geese and cranes, filling
all the sky with whistling wings.

The summer work, on the contrary, was
deadly heavy, especially harvesting and corn-
hoeing. All the ground had to be hoed over for
the first few years, before father bought culti
vators or small weed-covering ploughs, and
we were not allowed a moment's rest. The
hoes had to be kept working up and down as
steadily as if they were moved by machinery.
Ploughing for winter wheat was comparatively
easy, when we walked barefooted in the fur
rows, while the fine autumn tints kindled in
the woods, and the hillsides were covered with
golden pumpkins.

In summer the chores were grinding scythes,
feeding the animals, chopping stove-wood, and
carrying water up the hill from the spring on
the edge of the meadow, etc. Then breakfast,
and to the harvest or hay -field. I was foolishly
ambitious to be first in mowing and cradling,
and by the time I was sixteen led all the hired
men. An hour was allowed at noon for dinner
and more chores. We stayed in the field until
dark, then supper, and still more chores, family
worship, and to bed; making altogether a hard,
sweaty day of about sixteen or seventeen hours.
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MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

Think of that, ye blessed eight-hour-day
laborers !

In winter father came to the foot of the
stairs and called us at six o'clock to feed the
horses and cattle, grind axes, bring in wood,
and do any other chores required, then break
fast, and out to work in the mealy, frosty snow
by daybreak, chopping, fencing, etc. So in
general our winter work was about as restless
and trying as that of the long-day summer. No
matter what the weather, there was always
something to do. During heavy rains or snow
storms we worked in the barn, shelling corn,
fanning wheat, thrashing with the flail, making
axe-handles or ox-yokes, mending things, or
sprouting and sorting potatoes in the cellar.

No pains were taken to diminish or in any
way soften the natural hardships of this pioneer
farm life; nor did any of the Europeans seem
to know how to find reasonable ease and com
fort if they would. The very best oak and hick
ory fuel was embarrassingly abundant and cost
nothing but cutting and common sense; but
instead of hauling great heart-cheering loads
of it for wide, open, all-welcoming, climate-
changing, beauty-making, Godlike ingle-fires,
it was hauled with weary heart-breaking indus
try into fences and waste places to get it out
of the way of the plough, and out of the way of

162

THE PLOUGHBOY

doing good. The only fire for the whole house
was the kitchen stove, with a fire-box about
eighteen inches long and eight inches wide and
deep, — scant space for three or four small
sticks, around which in hard zero weather all
the family of ten persons shivered, and beneath
which in the morning we found our socks and
coarse, soggy boots frozen solid. We were not
allowed to start even this despicable little fire
in its black box to thaw them. No, we had
to squeeze our throbbing, aching, chilblained
feet into them, causing greater pain than
toothache, and hurry out to chores. Fortu
nately the miserable chilblain pain began to
abate as soon as the temperature of our feet
approached the freezing-point, enabling us in
spite of hard work and hard frost to enjoy the
winter beauty, — the wonderful radiance of
the snow when it was starry with crystals, and
the dawns and the sunsets and white noons,
and the cheery, enlivening company of the
brave chickadees and nuthatches.

The winter stars far surpassed those of our
stormy Scotland in brightness, and we gazed
and gazed as though we had never seen stars
before. Oftentimes the heavens were made
still more glorious by auroras, the long lance
rays, called " Merry Dancers" in Scotland,
streaming with startling tremulous motion to

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MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

the zenith. Usually the electric auroral light is
white or pale yellow, but in the third or fourth
of our Wisconsin winters there was a magnifi
cently colored aurora that was seen and ad
mired over nearly all the continent. The whole
sky was draped in graceful purple and crim
son folds glorious beyond description. Father
called us out into the yard in front of the house
where we had a wide view, crying, "Come!
Come, mother! Come, bairns! and see the glory
of God. All the sky is clad in a robe of red light.
Look straight up to the crown where the folds
are gathered. Hush and wonder and adore,
for surely this is the clothing of the Lord Him
self, and perhaps He will even now appear
looking down from his high heaven." This
celestial show was far more glorious than any
thing we had ever yet beheld, and throughout
that wonderful winter hardly anything else
was spoken of.

We even enjoyed the snowstorms, the throng
ing crystals, like daisies, coming down separate
and distinct, were very different from the
tufted flakes we enjoyed so much in Scotland,
when we ran into the midst of the slow-falling
feathery throng shouting with enthusiasm:
" Jennie's plucking her doos! Jennie's pluck
ing her doos!" (doves).

Nature has many ways of thinning and prun-

164

THE PLOUGHBOY

ing and trimming her forests, — lightning-
strokes, heavy snow, and storm-winds to shat
ter and blow down whole trees here and there
or break off branches as required. The results
of these methods I have observed in different
forests, but only once have I seen pruning by
rain. The rain froze on the trees as it fell and
grew so thick and heavy that many of them
lost a third or more of their branches. The view
of the woods after the storm had passed and
the sun shone forth was something never to be
forgotten. Every twig and branch and rugged
trunk was encased in pure crystal ice, and each
oak and hickory and willow became a fairy
crystal palace. Such dazzling brilliance, such
effects of white light and irised light glowing
and flashing I had never seen before, nor have I
since. This sudden change of the leafless woods
to glowing silver was, like the great aurora,
spoken of for years, and is one of the most
beautiful of the many pictures that enriches
my life. And besides the great shows there
were thousands of others even in the coldest
weather manifesting the utmost fineness and
tenderness of beauty and affording noble com
pensation for hardship and pain.

One of the most striking of the winter sounds
was the loud roaring and rumbling of the ice
on our lake, from its shrinking and expanding
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MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

with the changes of the weather. The fishei-
men who were catching pickerel said that they
had no luck when this roaring was going on
above the fish. I remember how frightened we
boys were when on one of our New Year holi
days we were taking a walk on the ice and
heard for the first time the sudden rumbling
roar beneath our feet and running on ahead
of us, creaking and whooping as if all the ice
eighteen or twenty inches thick was breaking.
In the neighborhood of our Wisconsin farm
there were extensive swamps consisting in great
part of a thick sod of very tough carex roots
covering thin, watery lakes of mud. They
originated in glacier lakes that were gradually
overgrown. This sod was so tough that oxen
with loaded wagons could be driven over it
without cutting down through it, although it
was afloat. The carpenters who came to build
our frame house, noticing how the sedges sunk
beneath their feet, said that if they should
break through, they would probably be well on
their way to California before touching bottom.
On the contrary, all these lake-basins are shal
low as compared with their width. When we
went into the Wisconsin woods there was not
a single wheel-track or cattle-track. The only
man-made road was an Indian trail along the
Fox River between Portage and Packwauckee
166

THE PLOUGHBOY

Lake. Of course the deer, foxes, badgers, coons,
skunks, and even the squirrels had well-beaten
tracks from their dens and hiding-places in
thickets, hollow trees, and the ground, but they
did not reach far, and but little noise was made
by the soft-footed travelers in passing over
them, only a slight rustling and swishing among
fallen leaves and grass.

Corduroying the swamps formed the prin
cipal part of road-making among the early
settlers for many a day. At these annual road-
making gatherings opportunity was offered for
discussion of the news, politics, religion, war,
the state of the crops, comparative advantages
of the new country over the old, and so forth,
but the principal opportunities, recurring every
week, were the hours after Sunday church serv
ices. I remember hearing long talks on the
wonderful beauty of the Indian corn ; the won
derful melons, so wondrous fine for "sloken a
body on hot days"; their contempt for toma
toes, so fine to look at with their sunny colors
and so disappointing in taste; the miserable
cucumbers the " Yankee bodies" ate, though
tasteless as rushes; the character of the Yan
kees, etcetera. Then there were long discussions
about the Russian war, news of which was
eagerly gleaned from Greeley's "New York
Tribune"; the great battles of the Alma, the
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MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

charges at Balaklava and Inkerman; the siege
of Sebastopol; the military genius of Todleben;
the character of Nicholas; the character of the
Russian soldier, his stubborn bravery, who for
the first time in history withstood the British
bayonet charges; the probable outcome of the
terrible war; the fate of Turkey, and so forth.

Very few of our old-country neighbors gave
much heed to what are called spirit-rappings.
On the contrary, they were regarded as a sort
of sleight-of-hand humbug. Some of these
spirits seem to be stout able-bodied fellows,
judging by the weights they lift and the heavy
furniture they bang about. But they do no
good work that I know of; never saw wood,
grind corn, cook, feed the hungry, or go to the
help of poor anxious mothers at the bedsides
of their sick children. I noticed when I was a
boy that it was not the strongest characters
who followed so-called mediums. When a
rapping-storm was at its height in Wisconsin,
one of our neighbors, an old Scotchman, re
marked, "Thay puir silly medium-bodies may
gang to the deil wi' their rapphV speerits, for
they dae nae gude, and I think the deil 's their
fayther."

Although in the spring of 1849 there was no
other settler within a radius of four miles of our
Fountain Lake farm, in three or four years al-
168

'

COMBINED THERMOMETER, HYGROMETER, BAROMETER

AND PYROMETER
Invented by the author in his boyhood

THE PLOUGHBOY

most every quarter-section of government land
was taken up, mostly by enthusiastic home-
seekers from Great Britain, with only here and
there Yankee families from adjacent states,
who had come drifting indefinitely westward
in covered wagons, seeking their fortunes like
winged seeds; all alike striking root and grip
ping the glacial drift soil as naturally as oak
and hickory trees; happy and hopeful, estab
lishing homes and making wider and wider
fields in the hospitable wilderness. The axe
and plough were kept very busy; cattle, horses,
sheep, and pigs multiplied; barns and corn-
cribs were filled up, and man and beast were
well fed; a schoolhouse was built, which was
used also for a church ; and in a very short time
the new country began to look like an old one.
Comparatively few of the first settlers suf
fered from serious accidents. One of our neigh
bors had a finger shot off, and on a bitter, frosty
night had to be taken to a surgeon in Portage,
in a sled drawn by slow, plodding oxen, to have
the shattered stump dressed. Another fell from
his wagon and was killed by the wheel passing
over his body. An acre of ground was reserved
and fenced for graves, and soon consumption
came to fill it. One of the saddest instances
was that of a Scotch family from Edinburgh,
consisting of a father, son, and daughter, who
169

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

settled on eighty acres of land within half a
mile of our place. The daughter died of con
sumption the third year after their arrival, the
son one or two years later, and at last the father
followed his two children. Thus sadly ended
bright hopes and dreams of a happy home in
rich and free America.

Another neighbor, I remember, after a linger
ing illness died of the same disease in mid
winter, and his funeral was attended by the
neighbors in sleighs during a driving snowstorm
when the thermometer was fifteen or twenty
degrees below zero. The great white plague
carried off another of our near neighbors, a fine
Scotchman, the father of eight promising boys,
when he was only about forty-five years of age.
Most of those who suffered from this disease
seemed hopeful and cheerful up to a very short
tune before their death, but Mr. Reid, I re
member, on one of his last visits to our house,
said with brave resignation: "I know that
never more in this world can I be well, but I
must just submit. I must just submit."

One of the saddest deaths from other causes
than consumption was that of a poor feeble
minded man whose brother, a sturdy, devout,
severe puritan, was a very hard taskmaster.
Poor half-witted Charlie was kept steadily at
work, — although he was not able to do much,
170

THE PLOUGHBOY

for his body was about as feeble as his mind.
He never could be taught the right use of an
axe, and when he was set to chopping down
trees for firewood he feebly hacked and chipped
round and round them, sometimes spending
several days in nibbling down a tree that a bea
ver might have gnawed down in half the time.
Occasionally when he had an extra large tree
to chop, he would go home and report that the
tree was too tough and strong for him and that
he could never make it fall. Then his brother,
calling him a useless creature, would fell it with
a few well-directed strokes, and leave Charlie
to nibble away at it for weeks trying to make it
into stove-wood.

His guardian brother, delighting in hard
work and able for anything, was as remarkable
for strength of body and mind as poor Charlie
for childishness. All the neighbors pitied Char
lie, especially the women, who never missed
an opportunity to give him kind words, cook
ies, and pie; above all, they bestowed natural
sympathy on the poor imbecile as if he were an
unfortunate motherless child. In particular,
his nearest neighbors, Scotch Highlanders,
warmly welcomed him to their home and never
wearied in doing everything that tender sym
pathy could suggest. To those friends he ran
gladly at every opportunity. But after years of
171

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

suffering from overwork and illness his feeble
health failed, and he told his Scotch friends one
day that he was not able to work any more or
do anything that his brother wanted him to do,
that he was tired of life, and that he had come
to thank them for their kindness and to bid
them good-bye, for he was going to drown him
self in Muir's lake. "Oh, Charlie! Charlie !"
they cried, "you mustn't talk that way.
Cheer up! You will soon be stronger. We all
love you. Cheer up! Cheer up! And always
come here whenever you need anything."

"Oh, no! my friends," he pathetically re
plied, "I know you love me, but I can't cheer
up any more. My heart 's gone, and I want to
die."

Next day, when Mr. Anderson, a carpenter
whose house was on the west shore of our lake,
was going to a spring he saw a man wade out
through the rushes and lily-pads and throw
himself forward into deep water. This was
poor Charlie. Fortunately, Mr. Anderson had
a skiff close by, and as the distance was not
great he reached the broken-hearted imbecile in
time to save his life, and after trying to cheer
him took him home to his brother. But even
this terrible proof of despair failed to soften his
brother. He seemed to regard the attempt at
suicide simply as a crime calculated to bring
172

THE PLOUGHBOY

harm to religion. Though snatched from the
lake to his bed, poor Charlie lived only a few
days longer. A physician who was called when
his health first became seriously impaired re
ported that he was suffering from Bright's dis
ease. After all was over, the stoical brother
walked over to the neighbor who had saved
Charlie from drowning, and, after talking on
ordinary affairs, crops, the weather, etc., said
in a careless tone: "I have a little job of car
penter work for you, Mr. Anderson." "What
is it, Mr. - - ?" "I want you to make a cof
fin.7' "A coffin!" said the startled carpenter.
"Who is dead?" " Charlie," he coolly replied.
All the neighbors were in tears over the poor
child man's fate. But, strange to say, the
brother who had faithfully cared for him con
trolled and concealed all his natural affection
as incompatible with sound faith.

The mixed lot of settlers around us offered a
favorable field for observation of the different
kinds of people of our own race. We were swift
to note the way they behaved, the differences
in their religion and morals, and in their ways
of drawing a living from the same kind of soil
under the same general conditions; how they
protected themselves from the weather; how
they were influenced by new doctrines and old
ones seen in new lights in preaching, lecturing,
173

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

debating, bringing up their children, etc., and
how they regarded the Indians, those first
settlers and owners of the ground that was be
ing made into farms.

I well remember my father's discussing with
a Scotch neighbor, a Mr. George Mair, the
Indian question as to the rightful ownership
of the soil. Mr. Mair remarked one day that it
was pitiful to see how the unfortunate Indians,
children of Nature, living on the natural
products of the soil, hunting, fishing, and even
cultivating small corn-fields on the most fertile
spots, were now being robbed of their lands and
pushed ruthlessly back into narrower and nar
rower limits by alien races who were cutting
off their means of livelihood. Father replied
that surely it could never have been the inten
tion of God to allow Indians to rove and hunt
over so fertile a country and hold it forever in
unproductive wildness, while Scotch and Irish
and English farmers could put itjto so much
better use. Where an Indian required thou
sands of acres for his family, these acres in
the hands of industrious, God-fearing farmers
would support ten or a hundred times more
people in a far worthier manner, while at the
same time helping to spread the gospel.

Mr. Mair urged that such farming as our
first immigrants were practicing was in many

174

THE PLOUGHBOY

ways rude and full of the mistakes of ignorance,
yet, rude as it was, and ill-tilled as were most
of our Wisconsin farms by unskillful, inexperi
enced settlers who had been merchants and
mechanics and servants in the old countries,
how should we like to have specially trained
and educated farmers drive us out of our homes
and farms, such as they were, making use of
the same argument, that God could never have
intended such ignorant, unprofitable, devastat
ing farmers as we were to occupy land upon
which scientific farmers could raise five or ten
tunes as much on each acre as we did? And I
well remember thinking that Mr. Mair had the
better side of the argument. It then seemed
to me that, whatever the final outcome might
be, it was at this stage of the fight only an ex
ample of the rule of might with but little or no
thought for the right or welfare of the other
fellow if he were the weaker; that " they should
take who had the power, and they should keep
who can," as Wordsworth makes the marauding
Scottish Highlanders say.

Many of our old neighbors toiled and
sweated and grubbed themselves into their
graves years before their natural dying days,
in getting a living on a quarter-section of land
and vaguely trying to get rich, while bread
and raiment might have been serenely won on
175

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

less than a fourth of this land, and time gained
to get better acquainted with God.

I was put to the plough at the age of twelve,
when my head reached but little above the
handles, and for many years I had to do the
greater part of the ploughing. It was hard work
for so small a boy; nevertheless, as good plough
ing was exacted from me as if I were a man,
and very soon I had to become a good plough
man, or rather ploughboy. None could draw
a straighter furrow. For the first few years the
work was particularly hard on account of the
tree-stumps that had to be dodged. Later the
stumps were all dug and chopped out to make
way for the McCormick reaper, and because I
proved to be the best chopper and stump-digger
I had nearly all of it to myself. It was dull, hard
work leaning over on my knees all day, chop
ping out those tough oak and hickory stumps,
deep down below the crowns of the big roots.
Some, though fortunately not many, were two
feet or more in diameter.

And as I was the eldest boy, the greater part
of all the other hard work of the farm quite
naturally fell on me. I had to split rails for
long lines of zigzag fences. The trees that were
tall enough and straight enough to afford one
or two logs ten feet long were used for rails,
the others, too knotty or cross-grained, were
176

THE PLOUGHBOY

disposed of in log and cord wood fences. Mak
ing rails was hard work and required no little
skill. I used to cut and split a hundred a day
from our short, knotty oak timber, swinging the
axe and heavy mallet, often with sore hands,
from early morning to night. Father was not
successful as a rail-splitter. After trying the
work with me a day or two, he in despair left
it all to me. I rather liked it, for I was proud of
my skill, and tried to believe that I was as
tough as the timber I mauled, though this and
other heavy jobs stopped my growth and earned
for me the title "Runt of the family."

In those early days, long before the great
labor-saving machines came to our help, al
most everything connected with wheat-raising
abounded in trying work, — cradling in the
long, sweaty dog-days, raking and binding,
stacking, thrashing, — and it often seemed to
me that our fierce, over-industrious way of get
ting the grain from the ground was too closely
connected with grave-digging. The staff of life,
naturally beautiful, oftentimes suggested the
grave-digger's spade. Men and boys, and in
those days even women and girls, were cut
down while cutting the wheat. The fat folk
grew lean and the lean leaner, while the rosy
cheeks brought from Scotland and other cool
countries across the sea faded to yellow like the
177

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

wheat. We were all made slaves through the
vice of over-industry. The same was in great
part true in making hay to keep the cattle and
horses through the long winters. We were
called in the morning at four o'clock and seldom
got to bed before nine, making a broiling,
seething day seventeen hours long loaded with
heavy work, while I was only a small stunted
boy; and a few years later my brothers David
and Daniel and my older sisters had to endure
about as much as I did. In the harvest dog-
days and dog-nights and dog-mornings, when
we arose from our clammy beds, our cotton
shirts clung to our backs as wet with sweat as
the bathing-suits of swimmers, and remained so
all the long, sweltering days. In mowing and
cradling, the most exhausting of all the farm
work, I made matters worse by foolish ambition
in keeping ahead of the hired men. Never a
warning word was spoken of the dangers of
over-work. On the contrary, even when sick
we were held to our tasks as long as we could
stand. Once in harvest-time I had the mumps
and was unable to swallow any food except
milk, but this was not allowed to make any
difference, while I staggered with weakness and
sometimes fell headlong among the sheaves.
Only once was I allowed to leave the harvest-
field — when I was stricken down with pneu-
178

THE PLOUGHBOY

monia. I lay gasping for weeks, but the Scotch
are hard to kill and I pulled through. No
physician was called, for father was an enthu
siast, and always said and believed that God
and hard work were by far the best doctors.

None of our neighbors were so excessively
industrious as father; though nearly all of the
Scotch, English, and Irish worked too hard,
trying to make good homes and to lay up
money enough for comfortable independence.
Excepting small garden-patches, few of them
had owned land in the old country. Here their
craving land-hunger was satisfied, and they
were naturally proud of their farms and tried
to keep them as neat and clean and well-tilled
as gardens. To accomplish this without the
means for hiring help was impossible. Flowers
were planted about the neatly kept log or frame
houses; barnyards, granaries, etc., were kept
in about as neat order as the homes, and the
fences and corn-rows were rigidly straight. But
every uncut weed distressed them; so also did
every ungathered ear of grain, and all that was
lost by birds and gophers; and this overcare-
fulness bred endless work and worry.

As for money, for many a year there was
precious little of it in the country for anybody.
Eggs sold at six cents a dozen in trade, and five-
cent calico was exchanged at twenty-five cents
179

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

a yard. Wheat brought fifty cents a bushel in
trade. To get cash for it before the Portage
Railway was built, it had to be hauled to Mil
waukee, a hundred miles, away. On the other
hand, food was abundant — eggs, chickens,
pigs, cattle, whe*at, corn, potatoes, garden
vegetables of the best, and wonderful melons
as luxuries. No other wild country I have ever
known extended a kinder welcome to poor
immigrants. On the arrival in the spring, a log
house could be built, a few acres ploughed, the
virgin sod planted with corn, potatoes, etc.,
and enough raised to keep a family comfort
ably the very first year; and wild hay for cows
and oxen grew in abundance on the numerous
meadows. The American settlers were wisely
content with smaller fields and less of every
thing, kept indoors during excessively hot or
cold weather, rested when tired, went off fish
ing and hunting at the most favorable times
and seasons of the day and year, gathered nuts
and berries, and in general tranquilly accepted
all the good things the fertile wilderness offered.
After eight years of this dreary work of
clearing the Fountain Lake farm, fencing it and
getting it in perfect order, building a frame
house and the necessary outbuildings for the
cattle and horses, — after all this had been
victoriously accomplished, and we had made

180

THE PLOUGHBOY

out to escape with life, — father bought a half-
section of wild land about four or five miles to
the eastward and began all over again to clear
and fence and break up other fields for a new
farm, doubling all the stunting, heartbreak
ing chopping, grubbing, stump-digging, rail-
splitting, fence-building, barn-building, house
building, and so forth.

By this tune I had learned to run the break
ing plough. Most of these ploughs were very
large, turning furrows from eighteen inches to
two feet wide, and were drawn by four or five
yoke of oxen. They were used only for the first
ploughing, in breaking up the wild sod woven
into a tough mass, chiefly by the cordlike roots
of perennial grasses, reinforced by the tap
roots of oak and hickory bushes, called " grubs,"
some of which were more than a century old
and four or five inches in diameter. In the
hardest ploughing on the most difficult ground,
the grubs were said to be as thick as the hair on
a dog's back. If in good trim, the plough cut
through and turned over these grubs as if the
century-old wood were soft like the flesh of
carrots and turnips; but if not in good trim the
grubs promptly tossed the plough out of the
ground. A stout Highland Scot, our neighbor,
whose plough was in bad order and who did
not know how to trim it, was vainly trying to
181

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

keep it in the ground by main strength, while
his son, who was driving and merrily whipping
up the cattle, would cry encouragingly, "Haud
her in, fayther! Haud her in!"

"But hoo i' the deil can I haud her in when
she'll no stop in?" his perspiring father would
reply, gasping for breath between each word.
On the contrary, with the share and coulter
sharp and nicely adjusted, the plough, instead
of shying at every grub and jumping out, ran
straight ahead without need of steering or hold
ing, and gripped the ground so firmly that it
could hardly be thrown out at the end of the
furrow.

Our breaker turned a furrow two feet wide,
and on our best land, where the sod was tough
est, held so firm a grip that at the end of the
field my brother, who was driving the oxen,
had to come to my assistance in throwing it
over on its side to be drawn around the end of
the landing; and it was all I could do to set it
up again. But I learned to keep that plough
in such trim that after I got started on a new
furrow I used to ride on the crossbar between
the handles with my feet resting comfortably
on the beam, without having to steady or steer
it in any way on the whole length of the field,
unless we had to go round a stump, for it sawed
through the biggest grubs without flinching.
182

THE PLOUGHBOY

The growth of these grubs was interesting to
me. When an acorn or hickory-nut had sent
up its first season's sprout, a few inches long,
it was burned off in the autumn grass fires;
but the root continued to hold on to life, formed
a callus over the wound and sent up one or
more shoots the next spring. Next autumn
these new shoots were burned off, but the root
and calloused head, about level with the sur
face of the ground, continued to grow and send
up more new shoots; and so on, almost every
year until very old, probably far more than a
century, while the tops, which would naturally
have become tall broad-headed trees, were only
mere sprouts seldom more than two years old.
Thus the ground was kept open like a prairie,
with only five or six trees to the acre, which
had escaped the fire by having the good fortune
to grow on a bare spot at the door of a fox or
badger den, or between straggling grass-tufts
wide apart on the poorest sandy soil.

The uniformly rich soil of the Illinois and
Wisconsin prairies produced so close and tall a
growth of grasses for fires that no tree could
live on it. Had there been no fires, these fine
prairies, so marked a feature of the country,
would have been covered by the heaviest for
ests. As soon as the oak openings in our neigh
borhood were settled, and the farmers had

183

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

prevented running grass-fires, the grubs grew
up into trees and formed tall thickets so
dense that it was difficult to walk through
them and every trace of the sunny " openings"
vanished.

We called our second farm Hickory Hill, from
its many fine hickory trees and the long gentle
slope leading up to it. Compared with Fountain
Lake farm it lay high and dry. The land was
better, but it had no living water, no spring or
stream or meadow or lake. A well ninety feet
deep had to be dug, all except the first ten feet
or so in fine-grained sandstone. When the sand
stone was struck, my father, on the advice of a
man who had worked in mines, tried to blast
the rock; but from lack of skill the blasting
went on very slowly, and father decided to have
me do all the work with mason7 s chisels, a long,
hard job, with a good deal of danger in it. I had
to sit cramped in a space about three feet in
diameter, and wearily chip, chip, with heavy
hammer and chisels from early morning until
dark, day after day, for weeks and months.
In the morning, father and David lowered me
in a wooden bucket by a windlass, hauled up
what chips were left from the night before, then
went away to the farm work and left me until
noon, when they hoisted me out for dinner.
After dinner I was promptly lowered again, the
184

THE PLOTJGHBOY

forenoon's accumulation of chips hoisted out
of the way, and I was left until night.

One morning, after the dreary bore was
about eighty feet deep, my life was all but lost
in deadly choke-damp, — carbonic acid gas
that had settled at the bottom during the night.
Instead of clearing away the chips as usual when
I was lowered to the bottom, I swayed back
and forth and began to sink under the poison.
Father, alarmed that I did not make any noise,
shouted, "What's keeping you so still?" to
which he got no reply. Just as I was settling
down against the side of the wall, I happened
to catch a glimpse of a branch of a bur-oak tree
which leaned out over the mouth of the shaft.
This suddenly awakened me, and to father's
excited shouting I feebly murmured, "Take me
out." But when he began to hoist he found I
was not in the bucket and in wild alarm shouted,
"Get in! Get in the bucket and hold on! Hold
on!" Somehow I managed to get into the
bucket, and that is all I remembered until I
was dragged out, violently gasping for breath.

One of our near neighbors, a stone mason
and miner by the name of William Duncan,
came to see me, and after hearing the particu
lars of the accident he solemnly said: "Weel,
Johnnie, it's God's mercy that you're alive.
Many a companion of mine have I seen dead

185

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

with choke-damp, but none that I ever saw or
heard of was so near to death in it as you
were and escaped without help." Mr. Duncan
taught father to throw water down the shaft
to absorb the gas, and also to drop a bundle of
brush or hay attached to a light rope, dropping
it again and again to carry down pure air and
stir up the poison. When, after a day or two,
I had recovered from the shock, father lowered
me again to my work, after taking the precau
tion to test the air with a candle and stir it up
well with a brush-and-hay bundle. The weary
hammer-and-chisel-chipping went on as before,
only more slowly, until ninety feet down, when
at last I struck a fine, hearty gush of water.
Constant dropping wears away stone. So does
constant chipping, while at the same time wear
ing away the chipper. Father never spent an
hour in that well. He trusted me to sink it
straight and plumb, and I did, and built a fine
covered top over it, and swung two iron-bound
buckets in it from which we all drank for many
a day.

The honey-bee arrived in America long before
we boys did, but several years passed ere we
noticed any on our farm. The introduction of
the honey-bee into flowery America formed a
grand epoch in bee history. This sweet hum
ming creature, companion and friend of the
186

THE PLOUGHBOY

flowers, is now distributed over the greater part
of the continent, filling countless hollows in
rocks and trees with honey as well as the
millions of hives prepared for them by honey-
farmers, who keep and tend their flocks of
sweet winged cattle, as shepherds keep sheep,
— a charming employment, "like directing
sunbeams," as Thoreau says. The Indians call
the honey-bee the white man's fly; and though
they had long been acquainted with several
species of bumblebees that yielded more or
less honey, how gladly surprised they must
have been when they discovered that, in the
hollow trees where before they had found only
coons or squirrels, they found swarms of brown
flies with fifty or even a hundred pounds of
honey sealed up in beautiful cells. With their
keen hunting senses they of course were not
slow to learn the habits of the little brown
immigrants and the best methods of tracing
them to their sweet homes, however well hid
den. During the first few years none were
seen on our farm, though we sometimes heard
father's hired men talking about " lining bees."
None of us boys ever found a bee tree, or tried
to find any until about ten years after our
arrival in the woods. On the Hickory Hill
farm there is a ridge of moraine material, rather
dry, but flowery with goldenrods and asters of
187

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

many species, upon which we saw bees feeding
in the late autumn just when their hives were
fullest of honey, and it occurred to me one
day after I was of age and my own master
that I must try to find a bee tree. I made a
little box about six inches long and four inches
deep and wide; bought half a pound of honey,
went to the goldenrod hill, swept a bee into the
box and closed it. The lid had a pane of glass
in it so I could see when the bee had sucked its
fill and was ready to go home. At first it groped
around trying to get out, but, smelling the
honey, it seemed to forget everything else, and
while it was feasting I carried the box and a
small sharp-pointed stake to an open spot,
where I could see about me, fixed the stake in
the ground, and placed the box on the flat top
of it. When I thought that the little feaster
must be about full, I opened the box, but it was
in no hurry to fly. It slowly crawled up to the
edge of the box, lingered a minute or two clean
ing its legs that had become sticky with honey,
and when it took wing, instead of making what
is called a bee-line for home, it buzzed around
the box and minutely examined it as if trying to
fix a clear picture of it in its mind so as to be
able to recognize it when it returned for another
load, then circled around at a little distance as
if looking for something to locate it by. I was
188

THE PLOUGHBOY

the nearest object, and the thoughtful worker
buzzed in front of my face and took a good
stare at me, and then flew up on to the top of
an oak on the side of the open spot in the centre
of which the honey-box was. Keeping a keen
watch, after a minute or two of rest or wing-
cleaning, I saw it fly in wide circles round the
tops of the trees nearest the honey-box, and,
after apparently satisfying itself, make a bee-
line for the hive. Looking endwise on the line
of flight, I saw that what is called a bee-line
is not an absolutely straight line, but a line in
general straight made of many slight, wavering,
lateral curves. After taking as true a bearing
as I could, I waited and watched. In a few
minutes, probably ten, I was surprised to see
that bee arrive at the end of the outleaning
limb of the oak mentioned above, as though
that was the first point it had fixed in its mem
ory to be depended on in retracing the way back
to the honey-box. From the tree-top it came
straight to my head, thence straight to the box,
entered without the least hesitation, filled up
and started off after the same preparatory
dressing and taking of bearings as before. Then
I took particular pains to lay down the exact
course so I would be able to trace it to the hive.
Before doing so, however, I made an experi
ment to test the worth of the impression I had
189

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

that the little insect found the way back to the
box by fixing telling points in its mind. While
it was away, I picked up the honey-box and
set it on the stake a few rods from the position
it had thus far occupied, and stood there watch
ing. In a few minutes I saw the bee arrive at
its guide-mark, the overleaping branch on the
tree-top, and thence come bouncing down right
to the spaces in the air which had been occu
pied by my head and the honey-box, and when
the cunning little honey-gleaner found nothing
there but empty ah1 it whirled round and round
as if confused and lost; and although I was
standing with the open honey-box within fifty
or sixty feet of the former feasting-spot, it
could not, or at least did not, find it.

Now that I had learned the general direction
of the hive, I pushed on in search of it. I had
gone perhaps a quarter of a mile when I caught
another bee, which, after getting loaded, went
through the same performance of circling round
and round the honey-box, buzzing in front of
me and staring me in the face to be able to
recognize me; but as if the adjacent trees and
bushes were sufficiently well known, it simply
looked around at them and bolted off without
much dressing, indicating, I thought, that the
distance to the hive was not great. I followed
on and very soon discovered it in the bottom

190

THE PLOUGHBOY

log of a corn-field fence, but some lucky fellow
had discovered it before me and robbed it.
The robbers had chopped a large hole in the
log, taken out most of the honey, and left the
poor bees late in the fall, when winter was
approaching, to make haste to gather all the
honey they could from the latest flowers to
avoid starvation in the winter.

CHAPTER VII

KNOWLEDGE AND INVENTIONS

I LEARNED arithmetic in Scotland without
understanding any of it, though I had the rules
by heart. But when I was about fifteen or six
teen years of age, I began to grow hungry for
real knowledge, and persuaded father, who was
willing enough to have me study provided my
farm work was kept up, to buy me a higher
arithmetic. Beginning at the beginning, in one
summer I easily finished it without assistance,
in the short intervals between the end of din
ner and the afternoon start for the harvest-
and hay-fields, accomplishing more without a
teacher in a few scraps of time than in years in
school before my mind was ready for such work.
Then in succession I took up algebra, geome
try, and trigonometry and made some little
progress in each, and reviewed grammar. I was
fond of reading, but father had brought only
a few religious books from Scotland. Fortu
nately, several of our neighbors had brought a
dozen or two of all sorts of books, which I bor
rowed and read, keeping all of them except the
religious ones carefully hidden from father's
eye. Among these were Scott's novels, which,
192

KNOWLEDGE AND INVENTIONS

like all other novels, were strictly forbidden,
but devoured with glorious pleasure in secret.
Father was easily persuaded tobuyJosephus's
"Wars of the Jews/' and D'AubignS's " His
tory of the Reformation," and I tried hard to
get him to buy Plutarch's Lives, which, as I
told him, everybody, even religious people,
praised as a grand good book; but he would
have nothing to do with the old pagan until the
graham bread and anti-flesh doctrines came
suddenly into our backwoods neighborhood,
making a stir something like phrenology and
spirit-rappings, which were as mysterious in
their attacks as influenza. He then thought it
possible that Plutarch might be turned to ac
count on the food question by revealing what
those old Greeks and Romans ate to make them
strong; and so at last we gained our glorious
Plutarch. Dick's " Christian Philosopher,"
which I borrowed from a neighbor, I thought
I might venture to read in the open, trusting
that the word " Christian" would be proof
against its cautious condemnation-. But father
balked at the word " Philosopher," and quoted
from the Bible a verse which spoke of " phi
losophy falsely so-called." I then ventured to
speak in defense of the book, arguing that we
could not do without at least a little of the most
useful kinds of philosophy.
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MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

"Yes, we can," he said with enthusiasm,
"the Bible is the only book human beings can
possibly require throughout all the journey
from earth to heaven."

"But how," I contended, "can we find the
way to heaven without the Bible, and how
after we grow old can we read the Bible with
out a little helpful science? Just think, father,
you cannot read your Bible without spectacles,
and millions of others are in the same fix; and
spectacles cannot be made without some
knowledge of the science of optics."

"Oh!" he replied, perceiving the drift of the
argument, "there will always be plenty of
worldly people to make spectacles."

To this I stubbornly replied with a quotation
from the Bible with reference to the time com
ing when "all shall know the Lord from the
least even to the greatest," and then who will
make the spectacles? But he still objected to
my reading that book, called me a contuma
cious quibbler too fond of disputation, and
ordered me to return it to the accommodating
owner. I managed, however, to read it later.

On the food question father insisted that
those who argued for a vegetable diet were in
the right, because our teeth showed plainly
that they were made with reference to fruit
and grain and not for flesh like those of dogs
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KNOWLEDGE AND INVENTIONS

and wolves and tigers. He therefore promptly
adopted a vegetable diet and requested mother
to make the bread from graham flour instead of
bolted flour. Mother put both kinds on the
table, and meat also, to let all the family take
their choice, and while father was insisting on
the foolishness of eating flesh, I came to her
help by calling father's attention to the passage
in the Bible which told the story of Elijah the
prophet who, when he was pursued by enemies
who wanted to take his life, was hidden by the
Lord by the brook Cherith, and fed by ravens;
and surely the Lord knew what was good to
eat, whether bread or meat. And on what, I
asked, did the Lord feed Elijah? On vegetables
or graham bread? No, he directed the ravens
to feed his prophet on flesh. The Bible being
the sole rule, father at once acknowledged that
he was mistaken. The Lord never would have
'sent flesh to Elijah by the ravens if graham
bread were better.

I remember as a great and sudden discovery
that the poetry of the Bible, Shakespeare, and
Milton was a source of inspiring, exhilarating,
uplifting pleasure; and I became anxious to
know all the poets, and saved up small sums to
buy as many of their books as possible. Within
three or four years I was the proud possessor
of parts of Shakespeare's, Milton's, Cowper's,

195

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

Henry Kirke White's, Campbell's, and Aken-
side's works, and quite a number of others sel
dom read nowadays. I think it was in my
fifteenth year that I began to relish good liter
ature with enthusiasm, and smack my lips over
favorite lines, but there was desperately little
time for reading, even in the winter evenings
— only a few stolen minutes now and then.
Father's strict rule was, straight to bed imme
diately after family worship, which in winter
was usually over by eight o'clock. I was in the
habit of lingering in the kitchen with a book
and candle after the rest of the family had
retired, and considered myself fortunate if I
got five minutes' reading before father noticed
the light and ordered me to bed; an order that
of course I immediately obeyed. But night
after night I tried to steal minutes in the same
lingering way, and how keenly precious those
minutes were, few nowadays can know. Father
failed perhaps two or three times in a whole
winter to notice my light for nearly ten min
utes, magnificent golden blocks of time, long
to be remembered like holidays or geological
periods. One evening when I was reading
Church history father was particularly irrita
ble, and called out with hope-killing emphasis,
"John, go to bed! Must I give you a separate
order every night to get you to go to bed? Now,
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KNOWLEDGE AND INVENTIONS

I will have no irregularity in the family; you
must go when the rest go, and without my
having to tell you." Then, as an afterthought,
as if judging that his words and tone of voice
were too severe for so pardonable an offense
as reading a religious book, he unwarily added :
"If you will read, get up in the morning and
read. You may get up in the morning as early
as you like."

That night I went to bed wishing with all
my heart and soul that somebody or something
might call me out of sleep to avail myself of
this wonderful indulgence; and next morning
to my joyful surprise I awoke before father
called me. A boy sleeps soundly after working
all day in the snowy woods, but that frosty
morning I sprang out of bed as if called by a
trumpet blast, rushed downstairs, scarce feel
ing my chilblains, enormously eager to see how
much time I had won; and when I held up my
candle to a little clock that stood on a bracket
in the kitchen I found that it was only one
o'clock. I had gained five hours, almost half
a day!, "Five hours to myself!" I said, "five
huge, solid hours!" I can hardly think of any
other event in my life, any discovery I ever
made that gave birth to joy so transportingly
glorious as the possession of these five frosty
hours.

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MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

In the glad, tumultuous excitement of so
much suddenly acquired time-wealth, I hardly
knew what to do with it. I first thought of
going on with my reading, but the zero weather
would make a fire necessary, and it occurred to
me that father might object to the cost of fire
wood that took time to chop. Therefore, I
prudently decided to go down cellar, and begin
work on a model of a self-setting sawmill I
had invented. Next morning I managed to get
up at the same gloriously early hour, and
though the temperature of the cellar was a
little below the freezing point, and my light
was only a tallow candle, the mill work went
joyfully on. There were a few tools in a corner
of the cellar — a vise, files, a hammer, chisels,
etc., that father had brought from Scotland,
but no saw excepting a coarse crooked one
that was unfit for sawing dry hickory or oak.
So I made a fine-tooth saw suitable for my
work out of a strip of steel that had formed
part of an old-fashioned corset, that cut the
hardest wood smoothly. I also made my own
bradawls, punches, and a pair of compasses, out
of wire and old files.

My workshop was immediately under fa
ther's bed, and the filing and tapping in making
cogwheels, journals, cams, etc., must, no doubt,
have annoyed him, but with the permission he
198

KNOWLEDGE AND INVENTIONS

had granted in his mind, and doubtless hoping
that I would soon tire of getting up at one
o'clock, he impatiently waited about two weeks
before saying a word. I did not vary more than
five minutes from one o'clock all whiter, nor
did I feel any bad effects whatever, nor did I
think at all about the subject as to whether so
little sleep might be in any way injurious; it
was a grand triumph of will-power over cold
and common comfort and work-weariness in
abruptly cutting down my ten hours' allow
ance of sleep to five. I simply felt that I was
rich beyond anything I could have dreamed of
or hoped for. I was far more than happy. Like
Tarn o'Shanter I was glorious, "O'er a' the ills
o' life victorious."

Father, as was customary in Scotland, gave
thanks and asked a blessing before meals, not
merely as a matter of form and decent Chris
tian manners, for he regarded food as a gift
derived directly from the hands of the Father
in heaven. Therefore every meal to him was a
sacrament requiring conduct and attitude of
mind not unlike that befitting the Lord's Sup
per. No idle word was allowed to be spoken at
our table, much less any laughing or fun or
story-telling. When we were at the breakfast-
table, about two weeks after the great golden
time-discovery, father cleared his throat pre-
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MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

liminary, as we all knew, to saying something
considered important. I feared that it was to be
on the subject of my early rising, and dreaded
the withdrawal of the permission he had
granted on account of the noise I made, but
still hoping that, as he had given his word that
I might get up as early as I wished, he would
as a Scotchman stand to it, even though it was
given in an unguarded moment and taken in a
sense unreasonably far-reaching. The solemn
sacramental silence was broken by the dreaded
question : —

"John, what tune is it when you get up in
the morning?"

"About one o'clock," I replied in a low,
meek, guilty tone of voice.

"And what kind of a time is that, getting up
in the middle of the night and disturbing the
whole family?"

I simply reminded him of the permission he
had freely granted me to get up as early as I
wished.

"I know it," he said, in an almost agonized
tone of voice, "I know I gave you that miser
able permission, but I never imagined that you
would get up in the middle of the night."

To this I cautiously made no reply, but con
tinued to listen for the heavenly one-o'clock
call, and it never failed.

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KNOWLEDGE AND INVENTIONS

After completing my self-setting sawmill I
dammed one of the streams in the meadow and
put the mill in operation. This invention was
speedily followed by a lot of others — water-
wheels, curious doorlocks and latches, ther
mometers, hygrometers, pyrometers, clocks, a
barometer, an automatic contrivance for feed
ing the horses at any required hour, a lamp
lighter and fire-lighter, an early-or-late-rising
machine, and so forth.

After the sawmill was proved and discharged
from my mind, I happened to think it would
be a fine thing to make a timekeeper which
would tell the day of the week and the day of
the month, as well as strike like a common
clock and point out the hours; also to have
an attachment whereby it could be connected
with a bedstead to set me on my feet at any
hour in the morning; also to start fires, light
lamps, etc. I had learned the time laws of the
pendulum from a book, but with this exception
I knew nothing of timekeepers, for I had never
seen the inside of any sort of clock or watch.
After long brooding, the novel clock was at
length completed in my mind, and was tried
and found to be durable and to work well and
look well before I had begun to build it in wood.
I carried small parts of it in my pocket to whit
tle at when I was out at work on the farm,

201

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

using every spare or stolen moment within
reach without father's knowing anything about
it. In the middle of summer, when harvesting
was in progress, the novel time-machine was
nearly completed. It was hidden upstairs in a
spare bedroom where some tools were kept. I
did the making and mending on the farm, but
one day at noon, when I happened to be away,
father went upstairs for a hammer or something
and discovered the mysterious machine back
of the bedstead. My sister Margaret saw him
on his knees examining it, and at the first op
portunity whispered in my ear, " John, fayther
saw that thing you're making upstairs." None
of the family knew what I was doing, but they
knew very well that all such work was frowned
on by father, and kindly warned me of any
danger that threatened my plans. The fine
invention seemed doomed to destruction before
its time-ticking commenced, though I thought
it handsome, had so long carried it in my mind,
and like the nest of Burns 's wee mousie it had
cost me mony a weary whittling nibble. When
we were at dinner several days after the sad
discovery, father began to clear his throat to
speak, and I feared the doom of martyrdom
was about to be pronounced on my grand clock.
"John," he inquired, "what is that thing
you are making upstairs?"

202

KNOWLEDGE AND INVENTIONS

I replied in desperation that I did n't know
what to call it.

"What! You mean to say you don't know
what you are trying to do?"

"Oh, yes/' I said, "I know very well what
I am doing."

"What, then, is the thing for?"

"It's for a lot of things," I replied, "but get
ting people up early in the morning is one of the
main things it is intended for; therefore it might
perhaps be called an early-rising machine."

After getting up so extravagantly early all
the last memorable winter, to make a machine
for getting up perhaps still earlier seemed so
ridiculous that he very nearly laughed. But
after controlling himself and getting command
of a sufficiently solemn face and voice he said
severely, "Do you not think it is very wrong to
waste your time on such nonsense?"

"No," I said meekly, "I don't think I'm
doing any wrong."

"Well," he replied, "I assure you I do; and
if you were only half as zealous in the study of
religion as you are in contriving and whittling
these useless, nonsensical things, it would be
infinitely better for you. I want you to be like
Paul, who said that he desired to know nothing
among men but Christ and Him crucified."

To this I made no reply, gloomily believing

203

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

my fine machine was to be burned, but still
taking what comfort I could in realizing that
anyhow I had enjoyed inventing and making it.

After a few days, finding that nothing more
was to be said, and that father after all had not
had the heart to destroy it, all necessity for
secrecy being ended, I finished it in the half-
hours that we had at noon and set it in the
parlor between two chairs, hung moraine
boulders that had come from the direction of
Lake Superior on it for weights, and set it
running. We were then hauling grain into the
barn. Father at this period devoted himself
entirely to the Bible and did no farm work
whatever. The clock had a good loud tick, and
when he heard it strike, one of my sisters told
me that he left his study, went to the parlor,
got down on his knees and carefully examined
the machinery, which was all in plain sight, not
being enclosed in a case. This he did repeat
edly, and evidently seemed a little proud of
my ability to invent and whittle such a thing,
though careful to give no encouragement for
anything more of the kind in future.

But somehow it seemed impossible to stop.
Inventing and whittling faster than ever, I
made another hickory clock, shaped like a
scythe to symbolize the scythe of Father Time.
The pendulum is a bunch of arrows symbolizing
204

KNOWLEDGE AND INVENTIONS

the flight of time. It hangs on a leafless mossy
oak snag showing the effect of time, and on the
snath is written, "All flesh is grass." This,
especially the inscription, rather pleased father,
and, of course, mother and all my sisters and
brothers admired it. Like the first it indicates
the days of the week and month, starts fires
and beds at any given hour and minute, and,
though made more than fifty years ago, is still
a good timekeeper.

My mind still running on clocks, I invented
a big one like a town clock with four dials, with
the time-figures so large they could be read by
all our immediate neighbors as well as ourselves
when at work in the fields, and on the side next
the house the days of the week and month were
indicated. It was to be placed on the peak of
the barn roof. But just as it was all but fin
ished, father stopped me, saying that it would
bring too many people around the barn. I then
asked permission to put it on the top of a
black-oak tree near the house. Studying the
larger main branches, I thought I could secure
a sufficiently rigid foundation for it, while the
trimmed sprays and leaves would conceal the
angles of the cabin required to shelter the works
from the weather, and the two-second pendu
lum, fourteen feet long, could be snugly encased
on the side of the trunk. Nothing about the

205

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

grand, useful timekeeper, I argued, would dis
figure the tree, for it would look something like
a big hawk's nest. "But that," he objected,
" would draw still bigger bothersome trampling
crowds about the place, for who ever heard of
anything so queer as a big clock on the top of a
tree?" So I had to lay aside its big wheels and
cams and rest content with the pleasure of in
venting it, and looking at it in my mind and
listening to the deep solemn throbbing of its
long two-second pendulum with its two old
axes back to back for the bob.

One of my inventions was a large thermome
ter made of an iron rod, about three feet long
and five eighths of an inch in diameter, that
had formed part of a wagon-box. The expan
sion and contraction of this rod was multiplied
by a series of levers made of strips of hoop iron.
The pressure of the rod against the levers was
kept constant by a small counterweight, so
that the slightest change in the length of the
rod was instantly shown on a dial about three
feet wide multiplied about thirty-two thousand
times. The zero-point was gained by packing
the rod in wet snow. The scale was so large
that the big black hand on the white-painted
dial could be seen distinctly and the tempera
ture read while we were ploughing in the field
below the house. The extremes of heat and cold

206

THERMOMETER

SELF-SETTING SAWMILL

Model built in cellar

KNOWLEDGE AND INVENTIONS

caused the hand to make several revolutions.
The number of these revolutions was indicated
on a small dial marked on the larger one. This
thermometer was fastened on the side of the
house, and was so sensitive that when any one
approached it within four or five feet the heat
radiated from the observer's body caused the
hand of the dial to move so fast that the motion
was plainly visible, and when he stepped back,
the hand moved slowly back to its normal posi
tion. It was regarded as a great wonder by the
neighbors and even by my own all-Bible father.
Boys are fond of the books of travelers, and
I remember that one day, after I had been
reading Mungo Park's travels in Africa, mother
said: "Weel, John, maybe you will travel like
Park and Humboldt some day." Father over
heard her and cried out in solemn deprecation,
" Oh, Anne ! dinna put sic notions in the laddie's
heed." But at this time there was precious
little need of such prayers. My brothers left
the farm when they came of age, but I stayed
a year longer, loath to leave home. Mother
hoped I might be a minister some day; my sis
ters that I would be a great inventor. I often
thought I should like to be a physician, but I
saw no way of making money and getting the
necessary education, excepting as an inventor.
So, as a beginning, I decided to try to get into

207

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

a big shop or factory and live awhile among
machines. But I was naturally extremely shy
and had been taught to have a poor opinion of
myself, as of no account, though all our neigh
bors encouragingly called me a genius, sure to
rise in the world. When I was talking over
plans one day with a friendly neighbor, he said :
"Now, John, if you wish to get into a machine-
shop, just take some of your inventions to the
State Fair, and you may be sure that as soon
as they are seen they will open the door of any
shop in the country for you. You will be wel
comed everywhere." And when I doubtingly
asked if people would care to look at things
made of wood, he said, "Made of wood! Made
of wood! What does it matter what they're
made of when they are so out-and-out original.
There's nothing else like them in the world.
That is what will attract attention, and besides
they're mighty handsome things anyway to
come from the backwoods." So I was encour
aged to leave home and go at his direction to
the State Fair when it was being held in
Madison.

CHAPTER VIII

THE WORLD AND THE UNIVERSITY

WHEN I told father that I was about to leave
home, and inquired whether, if I should happen
to be in need of money, he would send me a
little, he said, "No; depend entirely on your
self. " Good advice, I suppose, but surely need
lessly severe for a bashful, home-loving boy
who had worked so hard. I had the gold sov
ereign that my grandfather had given me when
I left Scotland, and a few dollars, perhaps ten,
that I had made by raising a few bushels of
grain on a little patch of sandy abandoned
ground. So when I left home to try the world I
had only about fifteen dollars in my pocket.

Strange to say, father carefully taught us to
consider ourselves very poor worms of the dust,
conceived in sin, etc., and devoutly believed
that quenching every spark of pride and self-
confidence was a sacred duty, without realizing
that in so doing he might at the same time be
quenching everything else. Praise he consid
ered most venomous, and tried to assure me
that when I was fairly out in the wicked world
making my own way I would soon learn that
although I might have thought him a hard
209

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

taskmaster at times, strangers were far harder.
On the contrary, I found no lack of kindness
and sympathy. All the baggage I carried was a
package made up of the two clocks and a small
thermometer made of a piece of old washboard,
all three tied together, with no covering or case
of any sort, the whole looking like one very
complicated machine.

The aching parting from mother and my
sisters was, of course, hard to bear. Father let
David drive me down to Pardeeville, a place I
had never before seen, though it was only nine
miles south of the Hickory Hill home. When
we arrived at the village tavern, it seemed
deserted. Not a single person was in sight.
I set my clock baggage on the rickety platform.
David said good-bye and started for home,
leaving me alone in the world. The grinding
noise made - by the wagon in turning short
brought out the landlord, and the first thing
that caught his eye was my strange bundle.
Then he looked at me and said, " Hello, young
man, what's this?"

" Machines/' I said, "for keeping time and
getting up in the morning, and so forth."

"Well! Well! That's a mighty queer get-up.
You must be a Down-East Yankee. Where did
you get the pattern for such a thing?"

"In my head," I said.
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THE WORLD AND THE UNIVERSITY

Some one down the street happened to notice
the landlord looking intently at something and
came up to see what it was. Three or four
people in that little village formed an attractive
crowd, and in fifteen or twenty minutes the
greater part of the population of Pardeeville
stood gazing in a circle around my strange
hickory belongings. I kept outside of the circle
to avoid being seen, and had the advantage
of hearing the remarks without being embar
rassed. Almost every one as he came up would
say, " What's that? What 'sit for? Who made
it? " The landlord would answer them all alike,
" Why, a young man that lives out in the coun
try somewhere made it, and he says it 's a thing
for keeping time, getting up in the morning,
and something that I did n't understand. I
don't know what he meant.'7 " Oh, no ! " one of
the crowd would say, "that can't be. It's for
something else — something mysterious. Mark
my words, you'll see all about it in the news
papers some of these days." A curious little
fellow came running up the street, joined the
crowd, stood on tiptoe to get sight of the won
der, quickly made up his mind, and shouted in
crisp, confident, cock-crowing style, "I know
what that contraption 's for. It 's a machine for
taking the bones out of fish."

This was in the tune of the great popular
211

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

phrenology craze, when the fences and barns
along the roads throughout the country were
plastered with big skull-bump posters, headed,
"Know Thyself/' and advising everybody to
attend schoolhouse lectures to have then- heads
explained and be told what they were good for
and whom they ought to marry. My mechani
cal bundle seemed to bring a good deal of this
phrenology to mind, for many of the onlookers
would say, "I wish I could see that boy's head,
— he must have a tremendous bump of inven
tion." Others complimented me by saying, "I
wish I had that fellow's head. I'd rather have
it than the best farm in the State."

I stayed overnight at this little tavern, wait
ing for a train. In the morning I went to the
station, and set my bundle on the platform.
Along came the thundering train, a glorious
sight, the first train I had ever waited for.
When the conductor saw my queer baggage,
he cried, "Hello! What have we here?"

"Inventions for keeping time, early rising,
and so forth. May I take them into the car
with me?"

"You can take them where you like," he
replied, "but you had better give them to the
baggage-master. If you take them into the
car they will draw a crowd and might get
broken."

212

THE WORLD AND THE UNIVERSITY

So I gave them to the baggage-master and
made haste to ask the conductor whether I
might ride on the engine. He good-naturedly
said: "Yes, it's the right place for you. Run
ahead, and tell the engineer what I say." But
the engineer bluntly refused to let me on, say
ing: "It don't matter what the conductor told
you. I say you can't ride on my engine."

By this time the conductor, standing ready
to start his train, was watching to see what
luck I had, and when he saw me returning came
ahead to meet me.

"The engineer won't let me on," I reported.

"Won't he?" said the kind conductor. "Oh!
I guess he will. You come down with me."
And so he actually took the time and patience
to walk the length of that long train to get me
on to the engine.

"Charlie," said he, addressing the engineer,
"don't you ever take a passenger?"

"Very seldom," he replied.

"Anyhow, I wish you would take this young
man on. He has the strangest machines in the
baggage-car I ever saw in my life. I believe he
could make a locomotive. He wants to see the
engine running. Let him on." Then in a low
whisper he told me to jump on, which I did
gladly, the engineer offering neither encourage
ment nor objection.

213

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

As soon as the train was started, the engineer
asked what the " strange thing" the conductor
spoke of really was.

"Only inventions for keeping time, getting
folk up in the morning, and so forth/ ' I hastily
replied, and before he could ask any more
questions I asked permission to go outside of
the cab to see the machinery. This he kindly
granted, adding, "Be careful not to fall off,
and when you hear me whistling for a station
you come back, because if it is reported against
me to the superintendent that I allow boys to
run all over my engine I might lose my job."

Assuring him that I would come back
promptly, I went out and walked along the
foot-board on the side of the boiler, watching
the magnificent machine rushing through the
landscapes as if glorying in its strength like a
living creature. While seated on the cow
catcher platform, I seemed to be fairly flying,
and the wonderful display of power and motion
was enchanting. This was the first time I had
ever been on a train, much less a locomotive,
since I had left Scotland. When I got to Madi
son, I thanked the kind conductor and engineer
for my glorious ride, inquired the way to the
Fair, shouldered my inventions, and walked to
the Fair Ground.

When I applied for an admission ticket at a
214

THE WORLD AND THE UNIVERSITY

window by the gate I told the agent that I had
something to exhibit.

"What is it?" he inquired.

"Well, here it is. Look at it."

When he craned his neck through the win
dow and got a glimpse of my bundle, he cried
excitedly, "Oh! you don't need a ticket -
come right in."

When I inquired of the agent where such
things as mine should be exhibited, he said,
"You see that building up on the hill with a big
flag on it? That 's the Fine Arts Hall, and it's
just the place for your wonderful invention."

So I went up to the Fine Arts Hall and looked
in, wondering if they would allow wooden
things in so fine a place.

I was met at the door by a dignified gentle
man, who greeted me kindly and said, "Young
man, what have we got here?"

"Two clocks and a thermometer," I replied.

"Did you make these? They look wonder
fully beautiful and novel and must, I think,
prove the most interesting feature of the fair."

"Where shall I place them?" I inquired.

"Just look around, young man, and choose
the place you like best, whether it is occupied
or not. You can have your pick of all the
building, and a carpenter to make the necessary
shelving and assist you every way possible!"
215

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

So I quickly had a shelf made large enough
for all of them, went out on the hill and picked
up some glacial boulders of the right size for
weights, and in fifteen or twenty minutes the
clocks were running. They seemed to attract
more attention than anything else in the hall.
I got lots of praise from the crowd and the
newspaper reporters. The local press reports
were copied into the Eastern papers. It was
considered wonderful that a boy on a farm had
been able to invent and make such things, and
almost every spectator foretold good fortune.
But I had been so lectured by my father above
all things to avoid praise that I was afraid to
read those kind newspaper notices, and never
clipped out or preserved any of them, just
glanced at them and turned away my eyes from
beholding vanity. They gave me a prize of ten
or fifteen dollars and a diploma for wonderful
things not down in the list of exhibits.

Many years later, after I had written articles
and books, I received a letter from the gentle
man who had charge of the Fine Arts Hall. He
proved to be the Professor of English Litera
ture in the University of Wisconsin at this
Fair time, and long afterward he sent me clip
pings of reports of his lectures. He had a lec
ture on me, discussing style, etcetera, and
telling how well he remembered my arrival at

216

THE WORLD AND THE UNIVERSITY

the Hall in my shirt-sleeves with those mechan
ical wonders on my shoulder, and so forth, and
so forth. These inventions, though of little
importance, opened all doors for me and made
marks that have lasted many years, simply,
I suppose, because they were original and
promising.

I was looking around in the mean time to
find out where I should go to seek my fortune.
An inventor at the Fair, by the name of Wiard,
was exhibiting an iceboat he had invented to
run on the upper Mississippi from Prairie du
Chien to St. Paul during the winter months,
explaining how useful it would be thus to make
a highway of the river while it was closed to
ordinary navigation by ice. After he saw my
inventions he offered me a place in his foundry
and machine-shop in Prairie du Chien and
promised to assist me all he could. So I made
up my mind to accept his offer and rode with
him to Prairie du Chien in his iceboat, which
was mounted on a flat car. I soon found, how
ever, that he was seldom at home and that I
was not likely to learn much at his small shop.
I found a place where I could work for my
board and devote my spare hours to mechani
cal drawing, geometry, and physics, making
but little headway, however, although the Pel-
ton family, for whom I worked, were very kind.
217

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

I made up my mind after a few months' stay
in Prairie du Chien to return to Madison, hop
ing that in some way I might be able to gain
an education.

At Madison I raised a few dollars by making
and selling a few of those bedsteads that set
the sleepers on their feet in the morning, —
inserting in the footboard the works of an
ordinary clock that could be bought for a
dollar. I also made a few dollars addressing
circulars in an insurance office, while at the
same tune I was paying my board by taking
care of a pair of horses and going errands. This
is of no great interest except that I was thus
winning my bread while hoping that something
would turn up that might enable me to make
money enough to enter the State University.
This was my ambition, and it never wavered
no matter what I was doing. No University,
it seemed to me, could be more admirably
situated, and as I sauntered about it, charmed
with its fine lawns and trees and beautiful lakes,
and saw the students going and coming with
their books, and occasionally practicing with a
theodolite in measuring distances, I thought
that if I could only join them it would be the
greatest joy of life. I was desperately hungry
and thirsty for knowledge and willing to endure
anything to get it.

218

THE WORLD AND THE UNIVERSITY

One day I chanced to meet a student who
had noticed my inventions at the Fair and now
recognized me. And when I said, "You are
fortunate fellows to be allowed to study in this
beautiful place. I wish I could join you."
"Well, why don't you?" he asked. "I have n't
money enough," I said. "Oh, as to money,"
he reassuringly explained, "very little is re
quired. I presume you're able to enter the
Freshman class, and you can board yourself as
quite a number of us do at a cost of about a
dollar a week. The baker and milkman come
every day. You can live on bread and milk."
Well, I thought, maybe I have money enough
for at least one beginning term. Anyhow I
could n't help trying.

With fear and trembling, overladen with
ignorance, I called on Professor Stirling, the
Dean of the Faculty, who was then Acting
President, presented my case, and told him
how far I had got on with my studies at home,
and that I had n't been to school since leaving
Scotland at the age of eleven years, except
ing one short term of a couple of months at a
district school, because I could not be spared
from the farm work. After hearing my story,
the kind professor welcomed me to the glori
ous University — next, it seemed to me, to the
Kingdom of Heaven. After a few weeks in the

219

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

preparatory department I entered the Fresh
man class. In Latin I found that one of the
books in use I had already studied in Scotland.
So, after an interruption of a dozen years, I
began my Latin over again where I had left
off; and, strange to say, most of it came back to
me, especially the grammar which I had com
mitted to memory at the Dunbar Grammar
School.

During the four years that I was in the Uni
versity, I earned enough in the harvest-fields
during the long summer vacations to carry me
through the balance of each year, working very
hard, cutting with a cradle four acres of wheat
a day, and helping to put it in the shock. But,
having to buy books and paying, I think,
thirty-two dollars a year for instruction, and
occasionally buying acids and retorts, glass
tubing, bell-glasses, flasks, etc., I had to cut
down expenses for board now and then to half
a dollar a week.

One winter I taught school ten miles north
of Madison, earning much-needed money at
the rate of twenty dollars a month, " boarding
round," and keeping up my University work
by studying at night. As I was not then well
enough off to own a watch, I used one of my
hickory clocks, not only for keeping time, but
for starting the school fire in the cold mornings,

220

THE WORLD AND THE UNIVERSITY

and regulating class-times. I carried it out on
my shoulder to the old log schoolhouse, and
set it to work on a little shelf nailed to one of
the knotty, bulging logs. The winter was very
cold, and I had to go to the schoolhouse and
start the fire about eight o'clock to warm it
before the arrival of the scholars. This was a
rather trying job, and one that my clock might
easily be made to do. Therefore, after supper
one evening I told the head of the family with
whom I was boarding that if he would give me
a candle I would go back to the schoolhouse
and make arrangements for lighting the fire at
eight o'clock, without my having to be present
until time to open the school at nine. He said,
"Oh, young man, you have some curious
things in the school-room, but I don't think you
can do that." I said, "Oh, yes! It's easy,"
and in hardly more than an hour the simple job
was completed. I had only to place a teaspoon-
ful of powdered chlorate of potash and sugar
on the stove-hearth near a few shavings and
kindling, and at the required tune make the
clock, through a simple arrangement, touch
the inflammable mixture with a drop of sul
phuric acid. Every evening after school was
dismissed, I shoveled out what was left of the
fire into the snow, put in a little kindling, filled
up the big box stove with heavy oak wood,

221

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

placed the lighting arrangement on the hearth,
and set the 6lock to drop the acid at the hour of
eight; all this requiring only a few minutes.

The first morning after I had made this sun-
pie arrangement I invited the doubting farmer
to watch the old squat schoolhouse from a
window that overlooked it, to see if a good
smoke did not rise from the stovepipe. Sure
enough, on the minute, he saw a tall column
curling gracefully up through the frosty air,
but instead of congratulating me on my success
he solemnly shook his head and said in a hol
low, lugubrious voice, "Young man, you will
be setting fire to the schoolhouse ." All winter
long that faithful clock fire never failed, and
by the time I got to the schoolhouse the stove
was usually red-hot.

At the beginning of the long summer vaca
tions I returned to the Hickory Hill farm to
earn the means in the harvest-fields to continue
my University course, walking all the way to
save railroad fares. And although I cradled
four acres of wheat a day, I made the long,
hard, sweaty day's work still longer and harder
by keeping up my study of plants. At the
noon hour I collected a large handful, put them
in water to keep them fresh, and after supper
got to work on them and sat up till after mid
night, analyzing and classifying, thus leaving

222

THE WORLD AND THE UNIVERSITY

only four hours for sleep ; and by the end of the
first year, after taking up botany, I knew the
principal flowering plants of the region.

I received my first lesson in botany from a
student by the name of Griswold, who is now
County Judge of the County of Waukesha,
Wisconsin. In the University he was often
laughed at on account of his anxiety to instruct
others, and his frequently saying with fine
emphasis, " Imparting instruction is my great
est enjoyment." One memorable day in June,
when I was standing on the stone steps of the
north dormitory, Mr. Griswold joined me and
at once began to teach. He reached up, plucked
a flower from an overspreading branch of a
locust tree, and, handing it to me, said, "Muir,
do you know what family this tree belongs to? "

"No," I said, "I don't know anything about
botany."

"Well, no matter," said he, "what is it like?"

"It's like a pea flower," I replied.

"That's right. You're right," he said, "it
belongs to the Pea Family."

"But how can that be," I objected, "when
the pea is a weak, clinging, straggling herb, and
the locust a big, thorny hardwood tree?"

"Yes, that is true," he replied, "as to the
difference in size, but it is also true that in all
their essential characters they are alike, and

223

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

therefore they must belong to one and the same
family. Just look at the peculiar form of the
locust flower; you see that the upper petal,
called the banner, is broad and erect, and so is
the upper petal of the pea flower; the two lower
petals, called the wings, are outspread and
wing-shaped; so are those of the pea; and the
two petals below the wings are united on their
edges, curve upward, and form what is called
the keel, and so you see are the corresponding
petals of the pea flower. And now look at the
stamens and pistils. You see that nine of the
ten stamens have their filaments united into a
sheath around the pistil, but the tenth stamen
has its filament free. These are very marked
characters, are they not? And, strange to say,
you will find them the same in the tree and in
the vine. Now look at the ovules or seeds of
the locust, and you will see that they are ar
ranged in a pod or legume like those of the pea.
And look at the leaves. You see the leaf of the
locust is made up of several leaflets, and so also
is the leaf of the pea. Now taste the locust
leaf."

I did so and found that it tasted like the leaf
of the pea. Nature has used the same seasoning
for both, though one is a straggling vine, the
other a big tree.

"Now, surely you cannot imagine that all

224

THE WORLD AND THE UNIVERSITY

these similar characters are mere coincidences.
Do they not rather go to show that the Creator
in making the pea vine and locust tree had the
same idea in mind, and that plants are not
classified arbitrarily? Man has nothing to do
with then- classification. Nature has attended
to all that, giving essential unity with bound
less variety, so that the botanist has only to
examine plants to learn the harmony of their
relations. "

This fine lesson charmed me and sent me
flying to the woods and meadows in wild en
thusiasm. Like everybody else I was always
fond of flowers, attracted by their external
beauty and purity. Now my eyes were opened
to their inner beauty, all alike revealing glori
ous traces of the thoughts of God, and leading
on and on into the infinite cosmos. I wandered
away at every opportunity, making long excur
sions round the lakes, gathering specimens and
keeping them fresh in a bucket in my room to
study at night after my regular class tasks
were learned; for my eyes never closed on the
plant glory I had seen.

Nevertheless, I still indulged my love of
mechanical inventions. I invented a desk in
which the books I had to study were arranged
in order at the beginning of each term. I also
made a bed which set me on my feet every

225

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

morning at the hour determined on, and in
dark winter mornings just as the bed set me
on the floor it lighted a lamp. Then, after the
minutes allowed for dressing had elapsed, a
click was heard and the first book to be studied
was pushed up from a rack below the top of
the desk, thrown open, and allowed to remain
there the number of minutes required. Then
the machinery closed the book and allowed it
to drop back into its stall, then moved the rack
forward and threw up the next in order, and
so on, all the day being divided according to
the times of recitation, and tune required and
allotted to each study. Besides this, I thought
it would be a fine thing hi the summer-tune
when the sun rose early, to dispense with the
clock-controlled bed machinery, and make use
of sunbeams instead. This I did simply by
taking a lens out of my small spy-glass, fixing
it on a frame on the sill of my bedroom window,
and pointing it to the sunrise; the sunbeams
focused on a thread burned it through, allow
ing the bed machinery to put me on my feet.
When I wished to arise at any given time after
sunrise, I had only to turn the pivoted frame
that held the lens the requisite number of
degrees or minutes. Thus I took Emerson's
advice and hitched my dumping-wagon bed
to a star.

226

MY DESK

Made and used at the Wisconsin
State University

THE WORLD AND THE UNIVERSITY

I also invented a machine to make visible
the growth of plants and the action of the
sunlight, a very delicate contrivance, enclosed
in glass. Besides this I invented a barometer
and a lot of novel scientific apparatus. My
room was regarded as a sort of show place by
the professors, who oftentimes brought visitors
to it on Saturdays and holidays. And when,
some eighteen years after I had left the Uni
versity, I was sauntering over the campus in
time of vacation, and spoke to a man who
seemed to be taking some charge of the grounds,
he informed me that he was the janitor; and
when I inquired what had become of Pat, the
janitor in my time, and a favorite with the
students, he replied that Pat was still alive and
well, but now too old to do much work. And
when I pointed to the dormitory room that I
long ago occupied, he said: "Oh! then I know
who you are," and mentioned my name. "How
comes it that you know my name? " I inquired.
He explained that "Pat always pointed out
that room to newcomers and told long stories
about the wonders that used to be in it." So
long had the memory of my little inventions
survived.

Although I was four years at the University,
I did not take the regular course of studies,
but instead picked out what I thought would

227

MY BOYHOOD AND YOUTH

be most useful to me, particularly chemistry,
which opened a new world, and mathematics
and physics, a little Greek and Latin, botany
and geology. I was far from satisfied with what
I had learned, and should have stayed longer.
Anyhow I wandered away on a glorious botan
ical and geological excursion, which has lasted
nearly fifty years and is not yet completed,
always happy and free, poor and rich, without
thought of a diploma or of making a name,
urged on and on through endless, inspiring,
Godful beauty.

From the top of a hill on the north side of
Lake Mendota I gained a last wistful, lingering
view of the beautiful University grounds and
buildings where I had spent so many hungry
and happy and hopeful days. There with
streaming eyes I bade my blessed Alma Mater
farewell. But I was only leaving one Univer
sity for another, the Wisconsin University for
the University of the Wilderness.

A THOUSAND-MILE WALK
TO THE GULF

INTRODUCTION

"JOHN MUIR, Earth-planet, Universe." These
words are written on the inside cover of the
notebook from which the contents of this vol
ume have been taken. They reflect the mood in
which the late author and explorer undertook
his thousand-mile walk to the Gulf of Mexico
a half-century ago. No less does this refresh
ingly cosmopolitan address, which might have
startled any finder of the book, reveal the temper
and the comprehensiveness of Mr. Muir's mind.
He never was and never could be a parochial stu
dent of nature. Even at the early age of twenty-
nine his eager interest in every aspect of the
natural world had made him a citizen of the
universe.

While this was by far the longest botanical
excursion which Mr. Muir made in his earlier
years, it was by no means the only one. He
had botanized around the Great Lakes, in
Ontario, and through parts of Wisconsin, In
diana, and Illinois. On these expeditions he
had disciplined himself to endure hardship,
for his notebooks disclose the fact that he often
went hungry and slept in the woods, or on the
open prairies, with no cover except the clothes
he wore.

231

INTRODUCTION

" Oftentimes," he writes in some unpublished
biographical notes, "I had to sleep out with
out blankets, and also without supper or break
fast. But usually I had no great difficulty hi
finding a loaf of bread in the widely scattered
clearings of the farmers. With one of these big
backwoods loaves I was able to wander many
a long, wild mile, free as the winds in the glori
ous forests and bogs, gathering plants and feed
ing on God's abounding, inexhaustible spiritual
beauty bread. Only once in my long Canada
wanderings was the deep peace of the wilder
ness savagely broken. It happened in the maple
woods about midnight, when I was cold and my
fire was low. I was awakened by the awfully
dismal howling of the wolves, and got up in
haste to replenish the fire."

It was not, therefore, a new species of ad
venture upon which Mr. Muir embarked when
he started on his Southern foot-tour. It was
only a new response to the lure of those favor
ite studies which he had already pursued over
uncounted miles of virgin Western forests and
prairies. Indeed, had it not been for the acci
dental injury to his right eye in the month of
March, 1867, he probably would have started
somewhat earlier than he did. In a letter writ,
ten to Indianapolis friends on the day after the
accident, he refers mournfully to the interrup-

232

INTRODUCTION

tion of a long cherished plan. "For weeks,"
he writes, "I have daily consulted maps in lo
cating a route through the Southern States, the
West Indies, South America, and Europe — a
botanical journey studied for years. And so my
mind has long been in a glow with visions of the
glories of a tropical flora; but, alas, I am half-
blind. My right eye, trained to minute analy
sis, is lost and I have scarce heart to open the
other. Had this journey been accomplished,
the stock of varied beauty acquired would have
made me willing to shrink into any corner of
the world, however obscure and however re-
'mote."

The injury to his eye proved to be less serious
than he had at first supposed. In June he was
writing to a friend: "I have been reading and
botanizing for some weeks, and find that for
such work I am not very much disabled. I leave
this city [Indianapolis] for home to-morrow,
accompanied by Merrill Moores, a little friend
of mine. We will go to Decatur, Illinois, thence
northward through the wild prairies, botaniz
ing a few weeks by the way. ... I hope to go
South towards the end of the summer, and as
this will be a journey that I know very little
about, I hope to profit by your counsel before
setting out."

In an account written after the excursion he

233

INTRODUCTION

says : " I was eager to see Illinois prairies on my
way home, so we went to Decatur, near the
center of the State, thence north [to Portage]
by Rockford and Janesville. I botanized one
week on the prairie about seven miles south
west of Pecatonica. ... To me all plants are
more precious than before. My poor eye is not
better, nor worse. A cloud is over it, but in
gazing over the widest landscapes I am not
always sensible of its presence."

By the end of August Mr. Muir was back
again in Indianapolis. He had found it con
venient to spend a " botanical week" among
his University friends in Madison. So keen
was his interest in plants at this time that an
interval of five hours spent hi Chicago was
promptly turned to account in a search for
them. "I did not find many plants in her tu
multuous streets," he complains; "only a few
grassy plants of wheat, and two or three species
of weeds — amaranth, purslane, carpet- weed,
etc., — the weeds, I suppose, for man to walk
upon, the wheat to feed him. I saw some
green algae, but no mosses. Some of the latter
I expected to see on wet walls, and in seams on
the pavements. But I suppose that the manu
facturers' smoke and the terrible noise are too
great for the hardiest of them. I wish I knew
where I was going. Doomed to be ' carried of
234

INTRODUCTION

the spirit into the wilderness/ I suppose. I
wish I could be more moderate in my desires,
but I cannot, and so there is no rest."

The letter noted above was written only two
days before he started on his long walk to
Florida. If the concluding sentences still re
flect indecision, they also convey a hint of the
overmastering impulse under which he was act
ing. The opening sentences of his journal, after
wards crossed out, witness to this sense of in
ward compulsion which he felt. "Few bodies,"
he wrote, "are inhabited by so satisfied a soul
that they are allowed exemption from extraor
dinary exertion through a whole life." After
reciting illustrations of nature's periodicity,
of the ebbs and flows of tides, and the pulsation
of other forces, visible and invisible, he observes
that "so also there are tides not only in the af
fairs of men, but in the primal thing of life it
self. In some persons the impulse, being slight,
is easily obeyed or overcome. But in others it
is constant and cumulative in action until its
power is sufficient to overmaster all impedi
ments, and to accomplish the full measure of its
demands. For many a year I have been im
pelled toward the Lord's tropic gardens of the
South. Many influences have tended to blunt
or bury this constant longing, but it has out
lived and overpowered them all."

235

INTRODUCTION

Muir's love of nature was so largely a part
of his religion that he naturally chose Biblical
phraseology when he sought a vehicle for his
feelings. No prophet of old could have taken
his call more seriously, or have entered upon
his mission more fervently. During the long
days of his confinement in a dark room he had
opportunity for much reflection. He concluded
that life was too brief and uncertain, and time
too precious, to waste upon belts and saws ; that V
while he was pottering in a wagon factory, God
was making a world; and he determined that,
if his eyesight was spared, he would devote the
remainder of his life to a study of the process.
Thus the previous bent of his habits and studies,
and the sobering thoughts induced by one of
the bitterest experiences of his life, combined
to send him on the long journey recorded in
these pages.

Some autobiographical notes found among
his papers furnish interesting additional de
tails about the period between his release from
the dark room and his departure for the South.
"As soon as I got out into heaven's light/' he
says, "I started on another long excursion,
making haste with all my heart to store my
mind with the Lord's beauty, and thus be ready
for any fate light or dark. And it was from
this time that my long, continuous wanderings

236

INTRODUCTION

may be said to have fairly commenced. I bade
adieu to mechanical inventions, determined to
devote the rest of my life to the study of the
inventions of God. I first went home to Wis
consin, botanizing by the way, to take leave of
my father and mother, brothers and sisters, all
of whom were still living near Portage. I also
visited the neighbors I had known as a boy,
renewed my acquaintance with them after an
absence of several years, and bade each a formal
good-bye. When they asked where I was going
I said, 'Oh! I don't know — just anywhere in
the wilderness, southward. I have already had
glorious glimpses of the Wisconsin, Iowa, Mich
igan, Indiana, and Canada wildernesses; now
I propose to go South and see something of the
vegetation of the warm end of the country, and
if possible to wander far enough into South
America to see tropical vegetation in all its
palmy glory/

"The neighbors wished me well, advised
me to be careful of my health, and reminded
me that the swamps in the South were full of
malaria. I stopped overnight at the home of
an old Scotch lady who had long been my friend,
and was now particularly motherly in good
wishes and advice. I told her that as I was
sauntering along the road, just as the sun was
going down, I heard a darling speckled-breast

237

INTRODUCTION

sparrow singing, 'The day's done, the day's
done.' 'Weel, John, my dear laddie,' she re
plied, 'your day will never be done. There is
no end to the kind of studies you like so well,
but there 's an end to mortals' strength of body
and mind, to all that mortals can accomplish.
You are sure to go on and on, but I want you
to remember the fate of Hugh Miller.' She was
one of the finest examples I ever knew of a kind,
generous, great-hearted Scotchwoman."

The formal leave-taking from family and
neighbors indicates his belief that he was part
ing from home and friends for a long time. On
Sunday, the 1st of September, 1867, Mr. Muir
said good-bye also to his Indianapolis friends,
and went by rail to JefTersonville, where he
spent the night. The next morning he crossed
the river, walked through Louisville, and
struck southward through the State of Ken
tucky. A letter written a week later "among
the hills of Bear Creek, seven miles southeast
of Burkesville, Kentucky," shows that he had
covered about twenty-five miles a day. "I
walked from Louisville," he says, "a distance
of one hundred and seventy miles, and my feet
are sore. But, oh ! I am paid for all my toil a
thousand times over. I am in the woods on a
hilltop with my back against a moss-clad log.
I wish you could see my last evening's bed-

238

INTRODUCTION

room. The sun has been among the tree-tops
for more than an hour; the dew is nearly all
taken back, and the shade in these hill basins
is creeping away into the unbroken strongholds
of the grand old forests.

"I have enjoyed the trees and scenery of
Kentucky exceedingly. How shall I ever tell
of the miles and miles of beauty that have been
flowing into me in such measure? These lofty
curving ranks of lobing, swelling hills, these
concealed valleys of fathomless verdure, and
these lordly trees with the nursing sunlight
glancing in their leaves upon the outlines of the
magnificent masses of shade embosomed among
their wide branches — these are cut into my
memory to go with me forever.

"I was a few miles south of Louisville when
I planned my journey. I spread out my map
under a tree and made up my mind to go
through Kentucky, Tennessee, and Georgia
to Florida, thence to Cuba, thence to some part
of South America; but it will be only a hasty
walk. I am thankful, however, for so much.
My route will be through Kingston and Madi-
sonville, Tennessee, and through Blairsville
and Gainesville, Georgia. Please write me at
Gainesville. I am terribly letter-hungry. I
hardly dare to think of home and friends/'

In editing the journal I have endeavored, by

239

INTRODUCTION

use of all the available evidence, to trail Mr.
Muir as closely as possible on maps of the sixties
as well as on the most recent state and topo
graphical maps. The one used by him has not
been found, and probably is no longer in exist
ence. Only about twenty-two towns and cities
are mentioned in his journal. This constitutes
a very small number when one considers the
distance he covered. Evidently he was so ab
sorbed in the plant life of the region traversed
that he paid no heed to towns, and perhaps
avoided them wherever possible.

The sickness which overtook him in Florida
was probably of a malarial kind, although he
describes it under different names. It was, no
doubt, a misfortune in itself, and a severe test
for his vigorous constitution. But it was also a
blessing in disguise, inasmuch as it prevented
him from carrying out his foolhardy plan of
penetrating the tropical jungles of South
America along the Andes to a tributary of the
Amazon, and then floating down the river on
a raft to the Atlantic. As readers of the jour
nal will perceive, he clung to this intention even
during his convalescence at Cedar Keys and
in Cuba. In a letter dated the 8th of Novem
ber he describes himself as " just creeping about
getting plants and strength after my fever."
Then he asks his correspondent to direct let-

240

INTRODUCTION

ters to New Orleans, Louisiana. "I shall have
to go there," he writes, "for a boat to South
America. I do not yet know to which point in
South America I had better go." His hope to
find there a boat for South America explains
an otherwise mystifying letter in which he re
quested his brother David to send him a cer
tain sum of money by American Express order
to New Orleans. As a matter of fact he did not
go into Louisiana at all, either because he
learned that no south-bound ship was avail
able at the mouth of the Mississippi, or because
the unexpected appearance of the Island Belle
in the harbor of Cedar Keys caused him to
change his plans.

In later years Mr. Muir himself strongly
disparaged the wisdom of his plans with respect
to South America, as may be seen in the chap
ter that deals with his Cuban sojourn. The
judgment there expressed was lead-penciled
into his journal during a reading of it long after
wards. Nevertheless the Andes and the South
American forests continued to fascinate his
imagination, as his letters show, for many years
after he came to California. When the long de
ferred journey to South America was finally
made in 1911, forty-four years after the first
attempt, he whimsically spoke of it as the ful
fillment of those youthful dreams that moved

241

INTRODUCTION

him to undertake his thousand-mile walk to
the Gulf.

Mr. Muir always recalled with gratitude the
Florida friends who nursed him through his
long and serious illness. In 1898, while travel
ing through the South on a forest-inspection
tour with his friend Charles Sprague Sargent,
he took occasion to revisit the scenes of his early
adventures. It may be of interest to quote
some sentences from letters written at that
time to his wife and to his sister Sarah. "I
have been down the east side of the Florida
peninsula along the Indian River," he writes,
"through the palm and pine forests to Miami,
and thence to Key West and the southmost
keys stretching out towards Cuba. Returning,
I crossed over to the west coast by Palatka to
Cedar Keys, on my old track made thirty-one
years ago, in search of the Hodgsons who
nursed me through my long attack of fever.
Mr. Hodgson died long ago, also the eldest
son, with whom I used to go boating among
the keys while slowly convalescing."

He then tells how he found Mrs. Hodgson
and the rest of the family at Archer. They had
long thought him dead and were naturally very
much surprised to see him. Mrs. Hodgson was
in her garden and he recognized her, though
the years had altered her appearance. Let us

242

INTRODUCTION

give his own account of the meeting. "I asked
her if she knew me. 'No, I don't/ she said;
'tell me your name.' 'Muir/ I replied. 'John
Muir? My California John Muir?' she almost
screamed. I said, 'Yes, John Muir; and you
know I promised to return and visit you in
about twenty-five years, and though I am a
little late — six or seven years — I 've done
the best I could.' The eldest boy and girl re
membered the stories I told them, and when
they read about the Muir Glacier they felt sure
it must have been named for me. I stopped at
Archer about four hours, and the way we talked
over old times you may imagine." From Sa
vannah, on the same trip, he wrote: "Here is
where I spent a hungry, weary, yet happy week
camping in Bonaventure graveyard thirty-one
years ago. Many changes, I am told, have
been made in its graves and avenues of late,
and how many in my life!"

In perusing this journal the reader will miss
the literary finish which Mr. Muir was accus
tomed to give to his later writings. This fact
calls for no excuse. Not only are we dealing here
with the earliest product of his pen, but with
impressions and observations written down
hastily during pauses in his long march. He ap
parently intended to use this raw material at
some tune for another book. If the record, as

243

INTRODUCTION

it stands, lacks finish and adornment, it also
possesses the immediacy and the freshness of
first impressions.

The sources which I have used hi preparing
this volume are threefold: (1) the original jour
nal, of which the first half contained many in
terlinear revisions and expansions, and a con
siderable number of rough pencil sketches of
plants, trees, scenery, and notable adventures;

(2) a wide-spaced, typewritten, rough copy of
the journal, apparently in large part dictated
to a stenographer; it is only slightly revised,
and comparison with the original journal shows
many significant omissions and additions;

(3) two separate elaborations of his experiences
in Savannah, when he camped there for a week
in the Bonaventure graveyard. Throughout
my work upon the primary and secondary ma
terials I was impressed with the scrupulous
fidelity with which he adhered to the facts and
impressions set down in the original journal.

Readers of Muir's writings need scarcely be
told that this book, autobiographically, bridges
the period between The Story of My Boyhood
and Youth and My First Summer in the Sierra.
However, one span of the bridge was lacking,
for the journal ends with Mr. Muir's arrival
in San Francisco about the first of April, 1868,
while his first summer in the Sierra was that of

244

INTRODUCTION

1869. By excerpting from a letter a summary
account of his first visit to Yosemite, and in
cluding a description of Twenty Hill Hollow,
where he spent a large part of his. first year in
California, the connection is made complete.
The last chapter was first published as an ar
ticle in the Overland Monthly of July, 1872.
A revised copy of the printed article, found
among Muir's literary effects, has been made
the basis of the chapter on Twenty Hill Hollow
as it appears in this volume.

WILLIAM FREDERIC BADE

A THOUSAND-MILE WALK
TO THE GULF

CHAPTER I

KENTUCKY FORESTS AND CAVES

I HAD long been looking from the wild woods
and gardens of the Northern States to those
of the warm South, and at last, all draw
backs overcome, I set forth [from Indianapolis]
on the first day of September, 1867, joyful and
free, on a thousand-mile walk to the Gulf of
Mexico. [The trip to Jeffersonville, on the
banks of the Ohio, was made by rail.] Crossing
the Ohio at Louisville [September 2], I steered
through the big city by compass without speak
ing a word to any one. Beyond the city I found
a road running southward, and after passing a
scatterment of suburban cabins and cottages I
reached the green woods and spread out my
pocket map to rough-hew a plan for my jour
ney.

My plan was simply to push on in a general
southward direction by the wildest, leafiest,
and least trodden way I could find, promising
the greatest extent of virgin forest. Folding my

247

A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

map, I shouldered my little bag and plant
press and strode away among the old Ken
tucky oaks, rejoicing in splendid visions of
pines and palms and tropic flowers in glorious
array, not, however, without a few cold shad
ows of loneliness, although the great oaks
seemed to spread their arms in welcome.

I have seen oaks of many species in many
kinds of exposure and soil, but those of Kentucky
excel in grandeur all I had ever before beheld.
They are broad and dense and bright green. In
the leafy bowers and caves of then* long branches
dwell magnificent avenues of shade, and every
tree seems to be blessed with a double portion
of strong exulting life. Walked twenty miles,
mostly on river bottom, and found shelter in
a rickety tavern.

September 3. Escaped from the dust and
squalor of my garret bedroom to the glorious
forest. All the streams that I tasted hereabouts
are salty and so are the wells. Salt River was
nearly dry. Much of my way this forenoon was
over naked limestone. After passing the level
ground that extended twenty-five or thirty
miles from the river I came to a region of roll
ing hills called Kentucky Knobs — hills of de
nudation, covered with trees to the top. Some
of them have a few pines. For a few hours I
followed the farmers7 paths, but soon wan-

248

KENTUCKY FORESTS AND CAVES

dered away from roads and encountered many
a tribe of twisted vines difficult to pass.

Emerging about noon from a grove of giant
sunflowers, I found myself on the brink of a
tumbling rocky stream [Rolling Fork]. I did
not expect to find bridges on my wild ways,
and at once started to ford, when a negro
woman on the opposite bank earnestly called
on me to wait until she could tell the "men
folks" to bring me a horse — that the river
was too deep and rapid to wade and that I
would "sartain be drowned " if I attempted to
cross. I replied that my bag and plants would
ballast me; that the water did not appear to be
deep, and that if I were carried away I was a
good swimmer and would soon dry in the sun
shine. But the cautious old soul replied that no
one ever waded that river and set off for a horse,
saying that it was no trouble at all.

In a few minutes the ferry horse came gin
gerly down the bank through vines and weeds.
His long stilt legs proved him a natural wader.
He was white, and the little sable negro boy that
rode him looked like a bug on his back. After
many a tottering halt the outward voyage was
safely made and I mounted behind little Nig.
He was a queer specimen, puffy and jet as an
India rubber doll and his hair was matted in
sections like the wool of a merino sheep. The

249

A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

old horse, overladen with his black and white
burden, rocked and stumbled on his stilt legs
with fair promises of a fall. But all ducking
signs failed and we arrived in safety among the
weeds and vines of the rugged bank. A salt bath
would have done us no harm. I could swim and
little Afric looked as if he might float like a
bladder.

I called at the homestead where my ferry
man informed me I would find t ' tollable " water.
But, like all the water of this section that I
have tasted, it was intolerable with salt. Every
thing about this old Kentucky home bespoke
plenty, unpolished and unmeasured. The house
was built in true Southern style, airy, large,
and with a transverse central hall that looks
like a railway tunnel, and heavy rough out
side chimneys. The negro quarters and other
buildings are enough in number for a village,
altogether an interesting representative of a
genuine old Kentucky home, embosomed in
orchards, corn fields and green wooded hills.

Passed gangs of woodmen engaged in felling
and hewing the grand oaks for market. Fruit
very abundant. Magnificent flowing hill scen
ery all afternoon. Walked southeast from
Elizabethtown till wearied and lay down in the
bushes by guess.

September 4. The sun was gilding the hill-

250

KENTUCKY FORESTS AND CAVES

tops when I was awakened by the alarm notes
of birds whose dwelling in a hazel thicket I had
disturbed. They flitted excitedly close to my
head, as if scolding or asking angry questions,
while several beautiful plants, strangers to me,
were looking me full in the face. The first bo
tanical discovery in bed! This was one of the
most delightful camp grounds, though groped
for in the dark, and I lingered about it enjoying
its trees and soft lights and music.

Walked ten miles of forest. Met a strange
oak with willow-looking leaves. Entered a
sandy stretch of black oak called " Barrens/'
many of which were sixty or seventy feet in
height, and are said to have grown since the
fires were kept off, forty years ago. The farm
ers hereabouts are tall, stout, happy fellows,
fond of guns and horses. Enjoyed friendly chats
with them. Arrived at dark in a village that
seemed to be drawing its last breath. Was
guided to the " tavern" by a negro who was ex
tremely accommodating. "No trouble at all,"
he said.

September 5. No bird or flower or friendly
tree above me this morning; only squalid garret
rubbish and dust. Escaped to the woods. Came
to the region of caves. At the mouth of the first
I discovered I was surprised to find ferns which
belonged to the coolest nooks of Wisconsin and

251

A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

northward, but soon observed that each cave
rim has a zone of climate peculiar to itself, and
it is always cool. This cave had an opening
about ten feet in diameter, and twenty-five
feet perpendicular depth. A strong cold wind
issued from it and I could hear the sounds of
running water. A long pole was set against its
walls as if intended for a ladder, but in some
places it was slippery and smooth as a mast and
would test the climbing powers of a monkey.
The walls and rim of this natural reservoir were
finely carved and flowered. Bushes leaned over
it with shading leaves and beautiful ferns and
mosses were in rows and sheets on its slopes and
shelves. Lingered here a long happy while,
pressing specimens and printing this beauty
into memory.

Arrived about noon at Munfordville; was
soon discovered and examined by Mr. Mun-
ford himself, a pioneer and father of the village.
He is a surveyor — has held all country offices,
and every seeker of roads and lands applies to
him for information. He regards all the vil
lagers as his children, and all strangers who en
ter Munfordville as his own visitors. Of course
he inquired my business, destination, etc., and
invited me to his house.

After refreshing me with "parrs" he com
placently covered the table with bits of rocks,

252

KENTUCKY FORESTS AND CAVES

plants, etc., things new and old which he had
gathered in his surveying walks and supposed
to be full of scientific interest. He informed
me that all scientific men applied to him for
information, and as I was a botanist, he either
possessed, or ought to possess, the knowledge
I was seeking, and so I received long lessons
concerning roots and herbs for every mortal
ill. Thanking my benefactor for his kindness,
I escaped to the fields and followed a railroad
along the base of a grand hill ridge. As eve
ning came on all the dwellings I found seemed
to repel me, and I could not muster courage
enough to ask entertainment at any of them.
Took refuge in a log schoolhouse that stood on
a hillside beneath stately oaks and slept on the
softest looking of the benches.

September 6. Started at the earliest bird song
in hopes of seeing the great Mammoth Cave
before evening. Overtook an old negro driv
ing an ox team. Rode with him a few miles
and had some interesting chat concerning war,
wild fruits of the woods, etc. " Right heah,"
said he, "is where the Rebs was a-tearin' up the
track, and they all a sudden thought they seed
the Yankees a-comin', obah dem big hills dar,
and Lo'd, how dey run." I asked him if he
would like a renewal of these sad war times,
when his flexible face suddenly calmed, and he

253

A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

said with intense earnestness, "Oh, Lo'd, want
no mo wa, Lo'd no." Many of these Kentucky
negroes are shrewd and intelligent, and when
warmed upon a subject that interests them, are
eloquent in no mean degree.

Arrived at Horse Cave, about ten miles from
the great cave. The entrance is by a long easy
slope of several hundred yards. It seems like a
noble gateway to the birthplace of springs and
fountains and the dark treasuries of the min
eral kingdom. This cave is in a village [of the
same name] which it supplies with an abun
dance of cold water, and cold air that issues
from its fern-clad lips. In hot weather crowds of
people sit about it in the shade of the trees that
guard it. This magnificent fan is capable of
cooling everybody in the town at once.

Those who live near lofty mountains may
climb to cool weather in a day or two, but the
overheated Kentuckians can find a patch of cool
climate in almost every glen in the State. The
villager who accompanied me said that Horse
Cave had never been fully explored, but that it
was several miles in length at least. He told me
that he had never been at Mammoth Cave -
that it was not worth going ten miles to see, as
it was nothing but a hole in the ground, and I
found that his was no rare case. He was one
of the useful, practical men — too wise to waste

254

KENTUCKY FORESTS AND CAVES

precious time with weeds, caves, fossils, or any
thing else that he could not eat.

Arrived at the great Mammoth Cave. I was
surprised to find it hi so complete naturalness.
A large hotel with fine walks and gardens is
near it. But fortunately the cave has been un
improved, and were it not for the narrow trail
that leads down the glen to its door, one would
not know that it had been visited. There are
house-rooms and halls whose entrances give
but slight hint of their grandeur. And so also
this magnificent hall in the mineral kingdom of
Kentucky has a door comparatively small and
unpromising. One might pass within a few
yards of it without noticing it. A strong cool
breeze issues constantly from it, creating a
northern climate for the ferns that adorn its
rocky front.

I never before saw Nature's grandeur in so
abrupt contrast with paltry artificial gardens.
The fashionable hotel grounds are in exact
parlor taste, with many a beautiful plant cul
tivated to deformity, and arranged in strict
geometrical beds, the whole pretty affair a
laborious failure side by side with Divine
beauty. The trees around the mouth of the
cave are smooth and tall and bent forward at
the bottom, then straight upwards. Only
a butternut seems, by its angular knotty

255

A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

branches, to sympathize with and belong to the
cave, with a fine growth of Cystopteris and
Hypnum.

Started for Glasgow Junction. Got belated
in the hill woods. Inquired my way at a farm
house and was invited to stay overnight in a
rare, hearty, hospitable manner. Engaged in
familiar running talk on politics, war times and
theology. The old Kentuckian seemed to take
a liking to me and advised me to stay in these
hills until next spring, assuring me that I would
find much to interest me in and about the Great
Cave; also, that he was one of the school offi
cials and was sure that I could obtain their
school for the winter term. I sincerely thanked
him for his kind plans, but pursued my own.

September 7. Left the hospitable Kentucki-
ans with their sincere good wishes and bore
away southward again through the deep green
woods. In noble forests all day. Saw mistletoe
for the first time. Part of the day I traveled
with a Kentuckian from near Burkesville. He
spoke to all the negroes he met with familiar
kindly greetings, addressing them always as
"Uncles" and "Aunts." All travelers one meets
on these roads, white and black, male and
female, travel on horseback. Glasgow is one
of the few Southern towns that shows ordinary
American life. Night with a well-to-do farmer.

256

KENTUCKY FORESTS AND CAVES

September 8. Deep, green, bossy sea of wav
ing, flowing hilltops. Corn and cotton and to
bacco fields scattered here and there. I had
imagined that a cotton field in flower was
something magnificent. But cotton is a coarse,
rough, straggling, unhappy looking plant, not
half as good-looking as a field of Irish potatoes.

Met a great many negroes going to meeting,
dressed in their Sunday best. Fat, happy look
ing and contented. The scenery on approaching
the Cumberland River becomes still grander.
Burkesville, in beautiful location, is embosomed
in a glorious array of verdant flowing hills. The
Cumberland must be a happy stream. I think
I could enjoy traveling with it in the midst of
such beauty all my life. This evening I could
find none willing to take me in, and so lay down
on a hillside and fell asleep muttering praises
to the happy abounding beauty of Kentucky.

September 9. Another day in the most fa
vored province of bird and flower. Many rapid
streams, flowing in beautiful flower-bordered
canons embosomed in dense woods. Am seated
on a grand hill-slope that leans back against
the sky like a picture. Amid the wide waves
of green wood there are spots of autumnal
yellow and the atmosphere, too, has the dawn-
ings of autumn in colors and sounds. The soft
light of morning falls upon ripening forests of

257

A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

oak and elm, walnut and hickory, and all Na
ture is thoughtful and calm. Kentucky is the
greenest, leafiest State I have yet seen. The
sea of soft temperate plant-green is deepest
here.

Comparing volumes of vegetable verdure in
different countries to a wedge, the thick end
would be in the forests of Kentucky, the other
in the lichens and mosses of the North. This
verdure wedge would not be perfect in its lines.
From Kentucky it would maintain its thickness
long and well in passing the level forests of
Indiana and Canada. From the maples and
pines of Canada it would slope rapidly to the
bleak Arctic hills with dwarf birches and alders;
thence it would thin out in a long edge among
hardy lichens and liverworts and mosses to the
dwelling-places of everlasting frost. Far the
grandest of all Kentucky plants are her noble
oaks. They are the master existences of her
exuberant forests. Here is the Eden, the para
dise of oaks. Passed the Kentucky line towards
evening and obtained food and shelter from a
thrifty Tennessee farmer, after he had made
use of all the ordinary anti-hospitable argu
ments of cautious comfortable families.

September 10. Escaped from a heap of un-
cordial kindness to the generous bosom of the
woods. After a few miles of level ground in

258

KENTUCKY FORESTS AND CAVES

luxuriant tangles of brooding vines, I began the
ascent of the Cumberland Mountains, the first
real mountains that my foot ever touched or
eyes beheld. The ascent was by a nearly regu
lar zigzag slope, mostly covered up like a tun
nel by overarching oaks. But there were a few
openings where the glorious forest road of Ken
tucky was grandly seen, stretching over hill
and valley, adjusted to every slope and curve
by the hands of Nature — the most sublime
and comprehensive picture that ever entered
my eyes. Reached the summit in six or seven
hours — a strangely long period of up-grade
work to one accustomed only to the hillocky
levels of Wisconsin and adjacent states.

CHAPTER II

CROSSING THE CUMBERLAND MOUNTAINS

I HAD climbed but a short distance when
I was overtaken by a young man on horse
back, who soon showed that he intended to
rob me if he should find the job worth while.
After he had inquired where I came from, and
where I was going, he offered to carry my bag.
I told him that it was so light that I did not
feel it at all as a burden; but he insisted and
coaxed until I allowed him to carry it. As soon
as he had gamed possession I noticed that he
gradually increased his speed, evidently trying
to get far enough ahead of me to examine the
contents without being observed. But I was
too good a walker and runner for him to get far.
At a turn of the road, after trotting his horse
for about half an hour, and when he thought he
was out of sight, I caught him rummaging my
poor bag. Finding there only a comb, brush,
towel, soap, a change of underclothing, a copy
of Burns' poems, Milton's Paradise Lost, and
a small New Testament, he waited for me,
handed back my bag, and returned down the
hill, saying that he had forgotten something.

I found splendid growths of shining-leaved

260

THE CUMBERLAND MOUNTAINS

Ericaceae [heathworts] for which the Alleghany
Mountains are noted. Also ferns of which Os-
munda dnnamomea [Cinnamon Fern] is the
largest and perhaps the most abundant. Os-
munda regalis [Flowering Fern] is also common
here, but not large. In Wood's 1 and Gray's
Botany Osmunda dnnamomea is said to be a
much larger fern than Osmunda Claytoniana.
This I found to be true in Tennessee and south
ward, but in Indiana, part of Illinois, and Wis
consin the opposite is true. Found here the
beautiful, sensitive Schrankia, or sensitive
brier. It is a long, prickly, leguminous vine,
with dense heads of jsmall, yellow fragrant
flowers.

Vines growing on roadsides receive many a
tormenting blow, simply because they give evi
dence of feeling. Sensitive people are served
in the same way. But the roadside vine soon
becomes less sensitive, like people getting used
to teasing — Nature, in this instance, making
for the comfort of flower creatures the same
benevolent arrangement as for man. Thus I
found that the Schrankia vines growing along
footpaths leading to a backwoods schoolhouse
were much less sensitive than those in the ad-

1 Alphonso Wood, Class-book of Botany, with a Flora of the
United States and Canada. The copy of this work, carried by
Mr. Muir on his wanderings, is still extant. The edition is
that of 1862.

261

A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

jacent unfrequented woods, having learned to
pay but slight attention to the tingling strokes
they get from teasing scholars.

It is startling to see the pairs of pinnate
leaves rising quickly out of the grass and fold
ing themselves close in regular succession from
the root to the end of the prostrate stems, ten
to twenty feet in length. How little we know as
yet of the life of plants — their hopes and fears,
pains and enjoyments!

Traveled a few miles with an old Tennessee
farmer who was much excited on account of the
news he had just heard. " Three kingdoms,
England, Ireland and Russia, have declared
war agin the United States. Oh, it's terrible,
terrible," said he. "This big war comin' so
quick after our own big fight. Well, it can't be
helped, and all I have to say is, Amerricay for
ever, but I'd a heap rather they did n't fight."

"But are you sure the news is true?" I in
quired. "Oh, yes, quite sure," he replied, "for
me and some of my neighbors were down at the
store last night, and Jim Smith can read, and
he found out all about it in a newspaper."

Passed the poor, rickety, thrice-dead village
of Jamestown, an incredibly dreary place.
Toward the top of the Cumberland grade, about
two hours before sundown I came to a log house,
and as I had been warned that all the broad

262

THE CUMBERLAND MOUNTAINS

plateau of the range for forty or fifty miles was
desolate, I began thus early to seek a lodging
for the night. Knocking at the door, a motherly
old lady replied to my request for supper and
bed and breakfast, that I was welcome to the
best she had, provided that I had the necessary
change to pay my bill. When I told her that un
fortunately I had nothing smaller than a five
dollar greenback she said, "Well, I'm sorry,
but cannot afford to keep you. Not long ago
ten soldiers came across from North Carolina,
and in the morning they offered a greenback
that I could n't change, and so I got nothing for
keeping them, which I was ill able to afford."
"Very well," I said, "I'm glad you spoke of
this beforehand, for I would rather go hungry
than impose on your hospitality."

As I turned to leave, after bidding her good
bye, she, evidently pitying me for my tired
looks, called me back and asked me if I would
like a drink of milk. This I gladly accepted,
thinking that perhaps I might not be success
ful in getting any other nourishment for a day
or two. Then I inquired whether there were any
more houses on the road, nearer than North
Carolina, forty or fifty miles away. "Yes,"
she said, "it 's only two miles to the next
house, but beyond that there are no houses
that I know of except empty ones whose

263

A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

owners have been killed or driven away during
the war."

Arriving at the last house, my knock at the
door was answered by a bright, good-natured,
good-looking little woman who, in reply to my
request for a night's lodging and food, said, " Oh,
I guess so. I think you can stay. Come in and
I'll call my husband." "But I must first warn
you," I said, "that I have nothing smaller to
offer" you than a five dollar bill for iny enter
tainment. I don't want you to think that I am
trying to impose on your hospitality."

She then called her husband, a blacksmith,
who was at work at his forge. He came out,
hammer in hand, bare-breasted, sweaty, be
grimed, and covered with shaggy black hair.
In reply to his wife's statement, that this young
man wished to stop overnight, he quickly re
plied, "That's all right; tell him to go into the
house." He was turning to go back to his shop,
when his wife added, "But he says he has n't
any change to pay. He has nothing smaller
than a five dollar bill." Hesitating only a mo
ment, he turned on his heel and said, "Tell him
to go into the house. A man that comes right
out like that beforehand is welcome to eat my
bread."

When he came in after his hard day's work
and sat down to dinner, he solemnly asked a

264

THE CUMBERLAND MOUNTAINS

blessing on the frugal meal, consisting solely of
corn bread and bacon. Then, looking across
the table at me, he said, " Young man, what
are you doing down here?" I replied that I
was looking at plants. " Plants? What kind of
plants?" I said, "Oh, all kinds; grass, weeds,
flowers, trees, mosses, ferns, — almost every
thing that grows is interesting to me."

"Well, young man," he queried, "you mean
to say that you are not employed by the gov
ernment on some private business?" "No, "I
said, "I am not employed by anyone except
just myself. I love all kinds of plants, and I
came down here to these Southern States to get
acquainted with as many of them as possible."

"You look like a strong-minded man," he re
plied, "and surely you are able to do something
better than wander over the country and look
at weeds and blossoms. These are hard times,
and real work is required of every man that is
able. Picking up blossoms does n't seem to be
a man's work at all in any kind of times."

To this I replied, "You are a believer in the
Bible, are you not?" "Oh, yes." "Well, you
know Solomon was a strong-minded man, and
he is generally believed to have been the very
wisest man the world ever saw, and yet he
considered it was worth while to study plants;
not only to go and pick them up as I am doing,

265

A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

but to study them; and you know we are told
that he wrote a book about plants, not only of
the great cedars of Lebanon, but of little bits of
things growing in the cracks of the walls.1

" Therefore, you see that Solomon differed
very much more from you than from me in this
matter. I '11 warrant you he had many a long
ramble in the mountains of Judea, and had he
been a Yankee he would likely have visited
every weed in the land. And again, do you not
remember that Christ told his disciples to ' con
sider the lilies how they grow/ and compared
their beauty with Solomon in all his glory? Now,
whose advice am I to take, yours or Christ's?
Christ says, ' Consider the lilies.' You say,
1 Don't consider them. It is n't worth while for
any strong-minded man.' '

This evidently satisfied him, and he acknowl
edged that he had never thought of blossoms
in that way before. He repeated again and
again that I must be a very strong-minded man,
and admitted that no doubt I was fully justified
in picking up blossoms. He then told me that
although the war was over, walking across the
Cumberland Mountains still was far from safe
on account of small bands of guerrillas who

1 The previously mentioned copy of Wood's Botany, used
by John Muir, quotes on the titlepage I Kings iv, 33: " He
spake of trees, from the cedar of Lebanon even unto the
hyssop that springeth out of the wall."

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THE CUMBERLAND MOUNTAINS

were in hiding along the roads, and earnestly
entreated me to turn back and not to think of
walking so far as the Gulf of Mexico until the
country became quiet and orderly once more.

I replied that I had no fear, that I had but
very little to lose, and that nobody was likely to
think it worth while to rob me; that, anyhow,
I always had good luck. In the morning he
repeated the warning and entreated me to turn
back, which never for a moment interfered
with my resolution to pursue my glorious
walk.

September 11. Long stretch of level sand
stone plateau, lightly furrowed and dimpled
with shallow groove-like valleys and hills. The
trees are mostly oaks, planted wide apart like
those in the Wisconsin woods. A good many
pine trees here and there, forty to eighty feet
high, and most of the ground is covered with
showy flowers. Poly galas [milkworts], soli-
dagoes [goldenrods], and asters were especially
abundant. I came to a cool clear brook every
half mile or so, their banks planted with Os-
munda regaliSj Osmunda cinnamomea, and hand
some sedges. The few larger streams were
fringed with laurels and azaleas. Large areas
beneath the trees are covered with formidable
green briers and brambles, armed with hooked
claws, and almost impenetrable. Houses are

267.

A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

far apart and uninhabited, orchards and fences
in ruins — sad marks of war.

About noon my road became dim and at
last vanished among desolate fields. Lost and
hungry, I knew my direction but could not keep
it on account of the briers. My path was indeed
strewn with flowers, but as thorny, also, as mor
tal ever trod. In trying to force a way through
these cat-plants one is not simply clawed and
pricked through all one's clothing, but caught
and held fast. The toothed arching branches
come down over and above you like cruel liv
ing arms, and the more you struggle the more
desperately you are entangled, and your
wounds deepened and multiplied. The South
has plant fly-catchers. It also has plant man-
catchers.

After a great deal of defensive fighting and
struggling I escaped to a road and a house, but
failed to find food or shelter. Towards sun
down, as I was walking rapidly along a straight
stretch hi the road, I suddenly came in sight of
ten mounted men riding abreast. They un
doubtedly had seen me before I discovered
them, for they had stopped their horses and
were evidently watching me. I saw at once that
it was useless to attempt to avoid them, for the
ground thereabout was quite open. I knew
that there was nothing for it but to face them

268

THE CUMBERLAND MOUNTAINS

fearlessly, without showing the slightest sus
picion of foul play. Therefore, without halting
even for a moment, I advanced rapidly with long
strides as though I intended to walk through
the midst of them. When I got within a rod or
so I looked up in their faces and smilingly bade
them " Howdy." Stopping never an instant, I
turned to one side and walked around them to
get on the road again, and kept on without ven
turing to look back or to betray the slightest
fear of being robbed.

After I had gone about one hundred or one
hundred and fifty yards, I ventured a quick
glance back, without stopping, and saw in this
flash of an eye that all the ten had turned their
horses toward me and were evidently talking
about me; supposedly, with reference to what
my object was, where I was going, and whether
it would be worth while to rob me. They all were
mounted on rather scrawny horses, and all
wore long hair hanging down on their shoul
ders. Evidently they belonged to the most irre
claimable of the guerrilla bands who, long accus
tomed to plunder, deplored the coming of peace.
I was not followed, however, probably because
the plants projecting from my plant press made
them believe that I was a poor herb doctor, a
common occupation in these mountain regions.

About dark I discovered, a little off the road,

269

A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

another house, inhabited by negroes, where I
succeeded in obtaining a much needed meal of
string beans, buttermilk, and corn bread. At
the table I was seated in a bottomless chair,
and as I became sore and heavy I sank deeper
and deeper, pressing my knees against my
breast, and my mouth settled to the level of my
plate. But wild hunger cares for none of these
things, and my curiously compressed position
prevented the too free indulgence of boisterous
appetite. Of course, I was compelled to sleep
with the trees in the one great bedroom of the
open night.

September 12. Awoke drenched with moun
tain mist, which made a grand show, as it
moved away before the hot sun. Passed Mont
gomery, a shabby village at the head of the
east slope of the Cumberland Mountains. Ob
tained breakfast in a clean house and began the
descent of the mountains. Obtained fine views
of a wide, open country, and distant flanking
ridges and spurs. Crossed a wide cool stream
[Emory River], a branch of the Clinch River.
There is nothing more eloquent in Nature than
a mountain stream, and this is the first I ever
saw. Its banks are luxuriantly peopled with
rare and lovely flowers, and overarching trees,
making one of Nature's coolest and most hos
pitable places. Every tree, every flower, every

270

THE CUMBERLAND MOUNTAINS

ripple and eddy of this lovely stream seemed
solemnly to feel the presence of the great Crea
tor. Lingered in this sanctuary a long time,
thanking the Lord with all my heart for his
goodness in allowing me to enter and enjoy it.
Discovered two ferns, Dicksonia and a small
matted polypod on trees, common farther
south. Also a species of magnolia with very
large leaves and scarlet conical fruit. Near this
stream I spent some joyous time in a grand
rock-dwelling full of mosses, birds, and flowers.
Most heavenly place I ever entered. The long
narrow valleys of the mountainside, all well
watered and nobly adorned with oaks, mag
nolias, laurels, azaleas, asters, ferns, Hypnum
mosses, Madotheca [Scale-mosses], etc. Also
towering clumps of beautiful hemlocks. The
hemlock, judging from the common species
of Canada, I regarded as the least noble of the
conifers. But those of the eastern valleys of the
Cumberland Mountains are as perfect in form
and regal in port as the pines themselves. The
latter abundant. Obtained fine glimpses from
open places as I descended to the great valley
between these mountains and the Unaka Moun
tains on the state line. Forded the Clinch, a
beautiful clear stream that knows many of the
dearest mountain retreats that ever heard the
music of running water. Reached Kingston

271

A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

before dark. Sent back my plant collections by
express to my brother in Wisconsin.

September 13. Walked all day across small
parallel valleys that flute the surface of the one
wide valley. These flutings appear to have
been formed by lateral pressure, are fertile, and
contain some fine forms, though the seal of war
is on all things. The roads never seem to pro
ceed with any fixed purpose, but wander as if
lost. In seeking the way to Philadelphia [in
Loudon County, Tennessee], I was told by a
buxom Tennessee "gal" that over the hills was
much the nearer way, that she always went
that way, and that surely I could travel it.

I started over the flint-ridges, but soon
reached a set of enchanted little valleys among
which, no matter how or in what direction I
traveled, I could not get a foot nearer to Phila
delphia. At last, consulting my map and com
pass, I neglected all directions and finally
reached the house of a negro driver, with whom
I put up for the night. Received a good deal
of knowledge which may be of use should I
ever be a negro teamster.

September 14- Philadelphia is a very filthy
village in a beautiful situation. More or less of
pine. Black oak most abundant. Polypodium
hexagonopterum and Aspidium acrostichoides
[Christmas Fern] most abundant of ferns and

272

THE CUMBERLAND MOUNTAINS

most generally distributed. Osmunda claytoni-
ana rare, not in fruit, small. Dicksonia abun
dant, after leaving the Cumberland Mountains.
Asplenium ebeneum [Ebony Spleenwort] quite
common in Tennessee and many parts of Ken
tucky. Cystopteris [Bladder Fern], and Asple
nium filix-foemina not common through the
same range. Pteris aquilina [Common Brake]
abundant, but small.

Walked through many a leafy valley, shady
grove, and cool brooklet. Reached Madison-
ville, a brisk village. Came in full view of the
Unaka Mountains, a magnificent sight. Stayed
overnight with a pleasant young farmer.

September 15. Most glorious billowy moun
tain scenery. Made many a halt at open places
to take breath and to admire. The road, in
many places cut into the rock, goes winding
about among the knobs and gorges. Dense
growth of asters, liatris,1 and grapevines.

Reached a house before night, and asked
leave to stop. "Well, you're welcome to stop,"
said the mountaineer, "if you think you can

1 Wood's Botany, edition of 1862, furnishes the following
interesting comment on Liatris odoratissima (Willd.), popu
larly known as Vanilla Plant or Deer's Tongue: "The fleshy
leaves exhale a rich fragrance even for years after they are
dry, and are therefore by the southern planters largely mixed
with their cured tobacco, to impart its fragrance to that
nauseous weed."

273

A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

live till morning on what I have to live on all
the time." Found the old gentleman very com
municative. Was favored with long "bar"
stories, deer hunts, etc., and in the morning
was pressed to stay a day or two.

September 16. "I will take you," said he,
"to the highest ridge in the country, where
you can see both ways. You will have a view
of all the world on one side of the mountains
and all creation on the other. Besides, you,
who are traveling for curiosity and wonder,
ought to see our gold mines." I agreed to stay
and went to the mines. Gold is found in small
quantities throughout the Alleghanies, and
many farmers work at mining a few weeks or
months every year when their time is not more
valuable for other pursuits. In this neighbor
hood miners are earning from half a dollar to
two dollars a day. There are several large
quartz mills not far from here. Common labor
is worth ten dollars a month.

September 17. Spent the day in botanizing,
blacksmithing, and examining a grist mill.
Grist mills, in the less settled parts of Tennes
see and North Carolina, are remarkably simple
affairs. A small stone, that a man might carry
under his arm, is fastened to the vertical shaft
of a little home-made, boyish looking, back-
action water-wheel, which, with a hopper and

274

THE CUMBERLAND MOUNTAINS

a box to receive the meal, is the whole affair.
The walls of the mill are of undressed poles cut
from seedling trees and there is no floor, as
lumber is dear. No dam is built. The water is
conveyed along some hillside until sufficient fall
is obtained, a thing easily done in the moun
tains.

On Sundays you may see wild, unshorn, un
combed men coming out of the woods, each
with a bag of corn on his back. From a peck to
a bushel is a common grist. They go to the mill
along verdant footpaths, winding up and down
over hill and valley, and crossing many a rho
dodendron glen. The flowers and shining leaves
brush against their shoulders and knees, occa
sionally knocking off their coon-skin caps. The
first arrived throws his corn into the hopper,
turns on the water, and goes to the house.
After chatting and smoking he returns to see
if his grist is done. Should the stones run
empty for an hour or two, it does no harm.

This is a fair average in equipment and ca
pacity of a score of mills that I saw in Tennes
see. This one was built by John Vohn, who
claimed that he could make it grind twenty
bushels a day. But since it fell into other hands
it can be made to grind only ten per day. All
the machines of Kentucky and Tennessee are
far behind the age. There is scarce a trace of

275

A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

that restless spirit of speculation and inven
tion so characteristic of the North. But one
way of doing things obtains here, as if laws had
been passed making attempts at improvement
a crime. Spinning and weaving are done in
every one of these mountain cabins wherever
the least pretensions are made to thrift and
economy. The practice of these ancient arts
they deem marks of advancement rather than
of backwardness. " There's a place back
heah," said my worthy entertainer, "whar
there's a mill-house, an' a store-house, an' a
still-house, an' a spring-house, an' a blacksmith
shop — all in the same yard ! Cows too, an'
heaps of big gals a-milkin' them."
' This is the most primitive country I have
seen, primitive in everything. The remotest
hidden parts of. Wisconsin are far in advance of
the mountain regions of Tennessee and North
Carolina. But my host speaks of the "old-
fashioned unenlightened times," like a philos
opher in the best light of civilization. "I believe
in Providence," said he. "Our fathers came
into these valleys, got the richest of them, and
skimmed off the cream of the soil. The worn-
out ground won't yield no roastin' ears now.
But the Lord foresaw this state of affairs, and
prepared something else for us. And what is it?
Why, He meant us to bust open these copper

276

THE CUMBERLAND MOUNTAINS

mines and gold mines, so that we may have
money to buy the corn that we cannot raise."
A most profound observation.

September 18. Up the mountain on the state
line. The scenery is far grander than any I
ever before beheld. The view extends from the
Cumberland Mountains on the north far into
Georgia and North Carolina to the south, an
area of about five thousand square miles. Such
an ocean of wooded, waving, swelling moun
tain beauty and grandeur is not to be described.
Countless forest-clad hills, side by side in rows
and groups, seemed to be enjoying the rich
sunshine and remaining motionless only be
cause they were so eagerly absorbing it. All
were united by curves and slopes of inimitable
softness and beauty. Oh, these forest gardens
of our Father! What perfection, what divinity,
in then- architecture! What simplicity and
mysterious complexity of detail! Who shall
read the teaching of these sylvan pages, the
glad brotherhood of rills that sing in the val
leys, and all the happy creatures that dwell in
them under the tender keeping of a Father's
care?

September 19. Received another solemn warn
ing of dangers on my way through the moun
tains. Was told by my worthy entertainer of a
wondrous gap in the mountains which he ad-

277

A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

vised me to see. "It is called Track Gap," said
he, "from the great number of tracks in the
rocks — bird tracks, bar tracks, hoss tracks,
men tracks, all in the solid rock as if it had
been mud." Bidding farewell to my worthy
mountaineer and all his comfortable wonders,
I pursued my way to the south.

As I was leaving, he repeated the warnings of
danger ahead, saying that there were a good
many people living like wild beasts on whatever
they could steal, and that murders were some
times committed for four or five dollars, and even
less. While stopping with him I noticed that
a man came regularly after dark to the house for
his supper. He was armed with a gun, a pistol,
and a long knife. My host told me that this
man was at feud with one of his neighbors, and
that they were prepared to shoot one another on
sight. That neither of them could do any regu
lar work or sleep in the same place two nights
in succession. That they visited houses only
for food, and as soon as the one that I saw had
got his supper he went out and slept in the
woods, without of course making a fire. His
enemy did the same.

My entertainer told me that he was trying
to make peace between these two men, because
they both were good men, and if they would
agree to stop their quarrel, they could then

278

THE CUMBERLAND MOUNTAINS

both go to work. Most of the food in this house
was coffee without sugar, corn bread, and some
times bacon. But the coffee was the greatest
luxury which these people knew. The only
way of obtaining it was by selling skins, or, in
particular, "sang," that is ginseng,1 which
found a market in far-off China.

My path all to-day led me along the leafy
banks of the Hiwassee,2 a most impressive
mountain river. Its channel is very rough, as
it crosses the edges of upturned rock strata,
some of them standing at right angles, or
glancing off obliquely to right and left. Thus a
multitude of short, resounding cataracts are
produced, and the river is restrained from the
headlong speed due to its volume and the in
clination of its bed.

All the larger streams of uncultivated coun
tries are mysteriously charming and beauti
ful, whether flowing in mountains or through
swamps and plains. Their channels are inter
estingly sculptured, far more so than the grand
est architectural works of man. The finest of

1 Muir's journal contains the following additional note:
"M. County produces $5000 worth a year of ginseng root,
valued at seventy cents a pound. Under the law it is not al
lowed to be gathered until the first of September."

2 In his journal Muir spells the name "Hiawassee," a
form which occurs on many of the older maps. The name
probably is derived from the Cherokee Indian " Ayuhwasi,"
a name applied to several of their former settlements.

279

A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

the forests are usually found along their banks,
and in the multitude of falls and rapids the
wilderness finds a voice. Such a river is the
Hiwassee, with its surface broken to a thou
sand sparkling gems, and its forest walls vine-
draped and flowery as Eden. And how fine the
songs it sings!

In Murphy [North Carolina] I was hailed
by the sheriff who could not determine by my
colors and rigging to what country or craft I
belonged. Since the war, every other stranger
in these lonely parts is supposed to be a crimi
nal, and all are objects of curiosity or appre
hensive concern. After a few minutes' conver
sation with this chief man of Murphy I was
pronounced harmless, and invited to his house,
where for the first tune since leaving home I
found a house decked with flowers and vines,
clean within and without, and stamped with
the comforts of culture and refinement in all
its arrangements. Striking contrast to the un
couth transitionist establishments from the
wigwams of savages to the clumsy but clean
log castle of the thrifty pioneer.

September 20. All day among the groves and
gorges of Murphy with Mr. Beale. Was shown
the site of Camp Butler, where General Scott
had his headquarters when he removed the
Cherokee Indians to a new home in the West.

280

THE CUMBERLAND MOUNTAINS

Found a number of rare and strange plants on
the rocky banks of the river Hiwassee. In the
afternoon, from the summit of a commanding
ridge, I obtained a magnificent view of blue,
softly curved mountain scenery. Among the
trees I saw Ilex [Holly] for the first time. Mr.
Beale informed me that the paleness of most
of the women in his neighborhood, and the
mountains in general hereabouts, was caused
chiefly by smoking and by what is called " dip
ping." I had never even heard of dipping. The
term simply describes the application of snuff
to the gum by means of a small swab.

September 21. Most luxuriant forest. Many
brooks running across the road. Blairsville
[Georgia], which I passed in the forenoon,
seems a shapeless and insignificant village, but
grandly encircled with banded hills. At night
I was cordially received by a farmer whose
wife, though smart and neat in her appearance,
was an inveterate smoker.

September 22. Hills becoming small, sparsely
covered with soil. They are called "knob
land" and are cultivated, or scratched, with a
kind of one-tooth cultivator. Every rain robs
them of their fertility, while the bottoms are of
course correspondingly enriched. About noon I
reached the last mountain summit on my way to
the sea. It is called the Blue Ridge, and before

281

A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

it lies a prospect very different from any I had
passed, namely, a vast uniform expanse of dark
pine woods, extending to the sea; an impressive
view at any time and under any circumstances,
but particularly so to one emerging from the
mountains.

Traveled in the wake of three poor but merry
mountaineers — an old woman, a young woman,
and a young man — who sat, leaned, and lay
in the box of a shackly wagon that seemed to
be held together by spiritualism, and was kept
in agitation by a very large and a very small
mule. In going down hill the looseness of the
harness and the joints of the wagon allowed the
mules to back nearly out of sight beneath the
box, and the three who occupied it were slid
against the front boards in a heap over the
mules' ears. Before they could unravel their
limbs from this unmannerly and impolite dis
order, a new ridge in the road frequently tilted
them with a swish and a bump against the back
boards in a mixing that was still more grotesque.

I expected to see man, women, and mules
mingled in piebald ruin at the bottom of some
rocky hollow, but they seemed to have full
confidence in the back board and front board
of the wagon-box. So they continued to slide
comfortably up and down, from end to end, in
slippery obedience to the law of gravitation, as

282

THE CUMBERLAND MOUNTAINS

the grades demanded. Where the jolting was
moderate, they engaged in conversation on
love, marriage, and camp-meeting, according
to the custom of the country. The old lady,
through all the vicissitudes of the transporta
tion, held a bouquet of French marigolds.

The hillsides hereabouts were bearing a fine
harvest of asters. Reached Mount Yonah in
the evening. Had a long conversation with an
old Methodist slaveholder and mine owner.
Was hospitably refreshed with a drink of fine
cider.

CHAPTER III

THROUGH THE RIVER COUNTRY OF GEORGIA

September 23. Am now fairly out of the
mountains. Thus far the climate has not
changed in any marked degree, the decrease
in latitude being balanced by the increase in
altitude. These mountains are highways on
which northern plants may extend their colo
nies southward. The plants of the North and
of the South have many minor places of meet
ing along the way I have traveled: but it is
here on the southern slope of the Alleghanies
that the greatest number of hardy, enterpris
ing representatives of the two climates are
assembled.

Passed the comfortable, finely shaded little
town of Gainesville. The Chattahoochee River
is richly embanked with massive, bossy, dark
green water oaks, and wreathed with a dense
growth of muscadine grapevines, whose or
nate foliage, so well adapted to bank embroid
ery, was enriched with other interweaving spe
cies of vines and brightly colored flowers. This
is the first truly southern stream I have met.

At night I reached the home of a young
man with whom I had worked in Indiana, Mr.

284

RIVER COUNTRY OF GEORGIA

Prater. He was down here on a visit to his
father and mother. This was a plain back
woods family, living out of sight among knobby
timbered hillocks not far from the river. The
evening was passed in mixed conversation on
southern and northern generalities.

September 24. Spent this day with Mr. Pra
ter, sailing on the Chattahoochee, feasting on
grapes that had dropped from the overhanging
vines. This remarkable species of wild grape
has a stout stem, sometimes five or six inches
in diameter, smooth bark and hard wood, quite
unlike any other wild or cultivated grapevine
that I have seen. The grapes are very large,
some of them nearly an inch in diameter,
globular and fine-flavored. Usually there are
but three or four berries in a cluster, and when
mature they drop off instead of decaying on
the vine. Those which fall into the river are
often found in large quantities in the eddies
along the bank, where they are collected by
men in boats and sometimes made into wine.
I think another name for this grape is the
Scuppernong,1 though called " muscadine "
here.

1 The old Indian name for the southern species of fox-
grape, Vitis rotundifolia, which Muir describes here. Wood's
Botany listed it as Vitis vulpina L. and remarks, "The va
riety called "Scuppernong" is quite common in southern
gardens."

285

A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

Besides sailing on the river, we had a long
walk among the plant bowers and tangles of
the Chattahoochee bottom lands.

September 25. Bade good-bye to this friendly
family. Mr. Prater accompanied me a short
distance from the house and warned me over
and over again to be on the outlook for rattle
snakes. They are now leaving the damp low
lands, he told me, so that the danger is much
greater because they are on their travels. Thus
warned, I set out for Savannah, but got lost
in the vine-fenced hills and hollows of the river
bottom. Was unable to find the ford to which
I had been directed by Mr. Prater.

I then determined to push on southward
regardless of roads and fords. After repeated
failures I succeeded in finding a place on the
river bank where I could force my way into the
stream through the vine-tangles. I succeeded
in crossing the river by wading and swimming,
careless of wetting, knowing that I would soon
diy in the hot sunshine.

Out near the middle of the river I found
great difficulty in resisting the rapid current.
Though I braced myself with a stout stick, I
was at length carried away in spite of all my
efforts. But I succeeded in swimming to the
shallows on the farther side, luckily caught
hold of a rock, and after a rest swam and waded

286

RIVER COUNTRY OF GEORGIA

ashore. Dragging myself up the steep bank by
the overhanging vines, I spread out myself, my
paper money, and my plants to dry.

Debated with myself whether to proceed
down the river valley until I could buy a boat,
or lumber to make one, for a sail instead of a
march through Georgia. I was intoxicated
with the beauty of these glorious river banks,
which I fancied might increase in grandeur as
I approached the sea. But I finally concluded
that such a pleasure sail would be less profit
able than a walk, and so sauntered on south
ward as soon* as I was dry. Rattlesnakes
abundant. Lodged at a farmhouse. Found a
few tropical plants in the garden.

Cotton is the principal crop hereabouts, and
picking is now going on merrily. Only the lower
bolls are now ripe. Those higher on the plants
are green and unopened. Higher still, there
are buds and flowers, some of which, if the
plants be thrifty and the season favorable,
will continue to produce ripe bolls until
January.

The negroes are easy-going and merry, mak
ing a great deal of noise and doing little work.
One energetic white man, working with a will,
would easily pick as much cotton as half a
dozen Sambos and Sallies. The forest here is
almost entirely made up of dun-green, knotty,

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A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

sparsely planted pines. The soil is mostly white,
fine-grained sand.

September 26. Reached Athens in the after
noon, a remarkably beautiful and aristocratic
town, containing many classic and magnificent
mansions of wealthy planters, who formerly
owned large negro-stocked plantations in the
best cotton and sugar regions farther south.
Unmistakable marks of culture and refinement,
as well as wealth, were everywhere apparent.
This is the most beautiful town I have seen on
the journey, so far, and the only one in the
South that I would like to revisit.

The negroes here have been well trained and
are extremely polite. When they come in sight
of a white man on the road, off go their hats,
even at a distance of forty or fifty yards,
and they walk bare-headed until he is out of
sight.

September 27. Long zigzag walk amid the
old plantations, a few of which are still cul
tivated in the old way by the same negroes
that worked them before the war, and who
still occupy their former " quarters." They are
now paid seven to ten dollars a month.

The weather is very hot on these sandy,
lightly shaded, lowland levels. When very
thirsty I discovered a beautiful spring in a
sandstone basin overhung with shady bushes

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RIVER COUNTRY OF GEORGIA

and vines, where I enjoyed to the utmost the
blessing of pure cold water. Discovered here
a fine southern fern, some new grasses, etc.
Fancied that I might have been directed here
by Providence, while fainting with thirst. It
is not often hereabouts that the joys of cool
water, cool shade, and rare plants are so de
lightfully combined.

Witnessed the most gorgeous sunset I ever
enjoyed in this bright world of light. The
sunny South is indeed sunny. Was directed by
a very civil negro to lodgings for the night.
Daily bread hereabouts means sweet potatoes
and rusty bacon.

September 28. The water oak is abundant
on stream banks and in damp hollows. Grasses
are becoming tall and cane-like and do not
cover the ground with their leaves as at the
North. Strange plants are crowding about me
now. Scarce a familiar face appears among all
the flowers of the day's walk.

September 29. To-day I met a magnificent
grass, ten or twelve feet in stature, with a
superb panicle of glossy purple flowers. Its
leaves, too, are of princely mould and dimen
sions. Its home is in sunny meadows and along
the wet borders of slow streams and swamps.
It seems to be fully aware of its high rank, and
waves with the grace and solemn majesty of

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A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

a mountain pine. I wish I could place one of
these regal plants among the grass settlements
of our Western prairies. Surely every panicle
would wave and bow in joyous allegiance and
acknowledge their king.

September 30. Between Tomson and Augusta
I found many new and beautiful grasses, tall
gerardias, liatris, club mosses, etc. Here, too,
is the northern limit of the remarkable long-
leafed pine, a tree from sixty to seventy feet
in height, from twenty to thirty inches hi
diameter, with leaves ten to fifteen inches long,
in dense radiant masses at the ends of the naked
branches. The wood is strong, hard, and very
resinous. It makes excellent ship spars, bridge
timbers, and flooring. Much of it is shipped
to the West India Islands, New York, and
Galveston.

The seedlings, five or six years old, are very
striking objects to one from the North, con
sisting, as they do, of the straight leafless
stem, surmounted by a crown of deep green
leaves, arching and spreading like a palm.
Children fancy that they resemble brooms, and
use them as such in their picnic play-houses.
Pinus palustris is most abundant in Georgia
and Florida.

The sandy soil here is sparingly seamed with
rolled quartz pebbles and clay. Denudation,

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RIVER COUNTRY OF GEORGIA

going on slowly, allows the thorough removal
of these clay seams, leaving only the sand.
Notwithstanding the sandiness of the soil,
much of the surface of the country is covered
with standing water, which is easily accounted
for by the presence of the above-mentioned
impermeable seams.

Traveled to-day more than forty miles with
out dinner or supper. No family would re
ceive me, so I had to push on to Augusta. Went
hungry to bed and awoke with a sore stomach
— sore, I suppose, from its walls rubbing on
each other without anything to grind. A negro
kindly directed me to the best hotel, called, I
think, the Planter's. Got a good bed for a
dollar.

October 1. Found a cheap breakfast in a
market-place; then set off along the Savannah
River to Savannah. Splendid grasses and rich,
dense, vine-clad forests. Muscadine grapes in
cart-loads. Asters and solidagoes becoming
scarce. Carices [sedges] quite rare. Leguminous
plants abundant. A species of passion flower is
common, reaching back into Tennessee. It is
here called " apricot vine," has a superb flower,
and the most delicious fruit I have ever eaten.

The pomegranate is cultivated here. The
fruit is about the size of an orange, has a
thick, tough skin, and when opened resembles

291

A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

a many-chambered box full of translucent
purple candies.

Toward evening I came to the country of one
of the most striking of southern plants, the so-
called "Long Moss" or Spanish Moss [Til-
Ian dsia], though it is a flowering plant and be
longs to the same family as the pineapple
[Bromelworts]. The trees hereabouts have all
their branches draped with it, producing a re
markable effect.

Here, too, I found an impenetrable cypress
swamp. This remarkable tree, called cypress,
is a taxodium, grows large and high, and is
remarkable for its flat crown. The whole forest
seems almost level on the top, as if each tree
had grown up against a ceiling, or had been
rolled while growing. This taxodium is the
only level-topped tree that I have seen. The
branches, though spreading, are careful not to
pass each other, and stop suddenly on reach
ing the general level, as if they had grown up
against a ceiling.

The groves and thickets of smaller trees are
full of blooming evergreen vines. These vines
are not arranged in separate groups, or in deli
cate wreaths, but in bossy walls and heavy,
mound-like heaps and banks. Am made to feel
that I am now in a strange land. I know hardly
any of the plants, but few of the birds, and I

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RIVER COUNTRY OF GEORGIA

am unable to see the country for the solemn,
dark, mysterious cypress woods which cover
everything.

The winds are full of strange sounds, making
one feel far from the people and plants and
fruitful fields of home. Night is coming on
and I am filled with indescribable loneliness.
Felt feverish; bathed in a black, silent stream;
nervously watchful for alligators. Obtained
lodging in a planter's house among cotton
fields. Although the family seemed to be
pretty well-off, the only light in the house
was bits of pitch-pine wood burned in the
fireplace.

October 2. In the low bottom forest of the
Savannah River. Very busy with new speci
mens. Most 'exquisitely planned wrecks of
Agrostis scabra [Rough Hair Grass]. Pines in
glorious array with open, welcoming, approach
able plants.

Met a young African with whom I had a long
talk. Was amused with his eloquent narrative
of coon hunting, alligators, and many super
stitions. He showed me a place where a rail
road train had run off the track, and assured
me that the ghosts of the killed may be seen
every dark night.

Had a long walk after sundown. At last was
received at the house of Dr. Perkins. Saw Cape

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A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

Jasmine [Gardenia florida] in the garden. Heard
long recitals of war happenings, discussions of
the slave question, and Northern politics; a
thoroughly characteristic Southern family, re
fined in manners and kind, but immovably
prejudiced on everything connected with slav
ery.

The family table was unlike any I ever saw
before. It was circular, and the central part
of it revolved. When any one wished to be
helped, he placed his plate on the revolving
part, which was whirled around to the host,
and then whirled back with its new load.
Thus every plate was revolved into place,
without the assistance of any of the family.

October 3. In " pine barrens " most of the day.
Low, level, sandy tracts; the pines wide apart;
the sunny spaces between, full of beautiful
abounding grasses, liatris, long, wand-like
solidago, saw-palmettoes, etc., covering the
ground in garden style. Here I sauntered in
delightful freedom, meeting none of the cat-
clawed vines, or shrubs, of the alluvial bot
toms. Dwarf live-oaks common.

Toward evening I arrived at the home of Mr.
Cameron, a wealthy planter, who had large
bands of slaves at work in his cotton fields.
They still call him "Massa." He tells me that
labor costs him less now than it did before the

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RIVER COUNTRY OF GEORGIA

emancipation of the negroes. When I arrived I
found him busily engaged in scouring the rust
off some cotton-gin saws which had been lying
for months at the bottom of his mill-pond to
prevent Sherman's " bummers" from destroy
ing them. The most valuable parts of the grist
mill and cotton-press were hidden in the same
way. "If Bill Sherman/' he said, "should
come down now without his army, he would
never go back."

When I asked him if he could give me food
and lodging for the night he said, "No, no, we
have DO accommodations for travelers." I said,
"But I am traveling as a botanist and either
have to find lodgings when night overtakes me
or lie outdoors, which I often have had to do in
my long walk from Indiana. But you see that
the country here is very swampy; if you will at
least sell me a piece of bread, and give me a
drink at your well, I shall have to look around
for a dry spot to lie down on."

Then, asking me a few questions, and nar
rowly examining me, he said, "Well, it is
barely possible that we may find a place for
you, and if you will come to the house I will
ask my wife." Evidently he was cautious to get
his wife's opinion of the kind of creature I was
before committing himself to hospitality. He
halted me at the door and called out his wife,

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A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

a fine-looking woman, who also questioned me
narrowly as to my object in coming so far down
through the South, so soon after the war. She
said to her husband that she thought they
could, perhaps, give me a place to sleep.

After supper, as we sat by the fire talking
on my favorite subject of botany, I described
the country I had passed through, its botan
ical character, etc. Then, evidently, all doubt
as to my being a decent man vanished, and
they both said that they would n't for any
thing have turned me away; but I must excuse"
their caution, for perhaps fewer than one in a
hundred, who passed through this unfrequented
part of the country, were to be relied upon.
"Only a short time ago we entertained a man
who was well-spoken and well-dressed, and he
vanished some time during the night with
some valuable silverware."

Mr. Cameron told me that when I arrived
he tried me for a Mason, and finding that I was
not a Mason he wondered still more that I
would venture into the country without being
able to gain the assistance of brother Masons
in these troublous times.

"Young man," he said, after hearing my
talks on botany, "I see that your hobby is
botany. My hobby is e-lec-tricity. I believe
that the time is coming, though we may not

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RIVER COUNTRY OF GEORGIA

live to see it, when that mysterious power or
force, used now only for telegraphy, will
eventually supply the power for running rail
road trains and steamships, for lighting, and,
in a word, electricity will do all the work of
the world."

Many times since then I have thought of
the wonderfully correct vision of this Georgia
planter, so far in advance of almost everybody
else in the world. Already nearly all that he
foresaw has been accomplished, and the use of
electricity is being extended more and more
every year.

October 4- New plants constantly appearing.
All day in dense, wet, dark, mysterious forest
of flat-topped taxodiums.

October 5. Saw the stately banana for the
first time, growing luxuriantly in the wayside
gardens. At night with a very pleasant, in
telligent Savannah family, but as usual was
admitted only after I had undergone a severe
course of questioning.

October 6. Immense swamps, still more com
pletely fenced and darkened, that are never
ruffled with winds or scorched with drought.
Many of them seem to be thoroughly aquatic.

October 7. Impenetrable taxodium swamp,
seemingly boundless. The silvery skeins of
tillandsia becoming longer and more abun-
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A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

dant. Passed the night with a very pleasant
family of Georgians, after the usual questions
and cross questions.

October 8. Found the first woody composite,
a most notable discovery. Took them to be
such at a considerable distance. Almost all
trees and shrubs are evergreens here with thick
polished leaves. Magnolia grandiflora becom
ing common. A magnificent tree in fruit and
foliage as well as in flower. Near Savannah
I found waste places covered with a dense
growth of woody leguminous plants, eight or
ten feet high, with pinnate leaves and sus
pended rattling pods.

Reached Savannah, but find no word from
home, and the money that I had ordered to be
sent by express from Portage [Wisconsin] by
my brother had not yet arrived. Feel dreadfully
lonesome and poor. Went to the meanest look
ing lodging-house that I could find, on account
of its cheapness.

CHAPTER IV

CAMPING AMONG THE TOMBS

'October 9. After going again to the express
office and post office, and wandering about the
streets, I found a road which led me to the
Bonaventure graveyard. If that burying-
ground across the Sea of Galilee, mentioned in
Scripture, was half as beautiful as Bonaventure,
I do not wonder that a man should dwell among
the tombs. It is only three or four miles from
Savannah, and is reached by a smooth white-
shell road.

There is but little to be seen on the way in
land, water, or sky, that would lead one to hope
for the glories of Bonaventure. The ragged
desolate fields, on both sides of the road, are
overrun with coarse rank weeds, and show
scarce a trace of cultivation. But soon all is
changed. Rickety log huts, broken fences, and
the last patch of weedy rice-stubble are left
behind. You come to beds of purple liatris and
living wild- wood trees. You hear the song of
birds, cross a small stream, and are with Nature
in the grand old forest graveyard, so beautiful
that almost any sensible person would choose

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A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

to dwell here with the dead, rather than with
the lazy, disorderly living.

Part of the grounds was cultivated and
planted with live-oak, about a hundred years
ago, by a wealthy gentleman who had his coun
try residence here. But much the greater part
is undisturbed. Even those spots which are
disordered by art, Nature is ever at work to
reclaim, and to make them look as if the foot
of man had never known them. Only a small
plot of ground is occupied with graves and the
old mansion is in ruins.

The most conspicuous glory of Bonaventure
is its noble avenue of live-oaks. They are the
most magnificent planted trees I have ever
seen, about fifty feet high and perhaps three or
four feet in diameter, with broad spreading
leafy heads. The main branches reach out
horizontally until they come together over the
driveway, embowering it throughout its entire
length, while each branch is adorned like a
garden with ferns, flowers, grasses, and dwarf
palmettoes.

But of all the plants of these curious tree-
gardens the most striking and characteristic is
the so-called Long Moss [Tillandsia usneoides].
It drapes all the branches from top to bottom,
hanging in long silvery-gray skeins, reaching a
length of not less than eight or ten feet, and

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CAMPING AMONG THE TOMBS

when slowly waving in the wind they produce
a solemn funereal effect singularly impressive.

There are also thousands of smaller trees and
clustered bushes, covered almost from sight in
the glorious brightness of their own light. The
place is half surrounded by the salt marshes
and islands of the river, their reeds and sedges
making a delightful fringe. Many bald eagles
roost among the trees along the side of the
marsh. Their screams are heard every morning,
joined with the noise of crows, and the songs of
countless warblers, hidden deep in their dwell
ings of leafy bowers. Large flocks of butter
flies, all kinds of happy insects, seem to be in
a perfect fever of joy and sportive gladness.
The whole place seems like a center of life. The
dead do not reign there alone.

Bonaventure to me is one of the most impres
sive assemblages of animal and plant creatures
I ever met. I was fresh from the Western
prairies, the garden-like openings of Wisconsin,
the beech and maple and oak woods of Indiana
and Kentucky, the dark mysterious Savannah
cypress forests; but never since I was allowed
to walk the woods have I found so impressive
a company of trees as the tillandsia-draped
oaks of Bonaventure.

I gazed awe-stricken as one new-arrived
from another world. Bonaventure is called a

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A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

graveyard, a town of the dead, but the few
graves are powerless in such a depth of life.
The rippling of living waters, the song of birds,
the joyous confidence of flowers, the calm, un-
disturbable grandeur of the oaks, mark this
place of graves as one of the Lord's most fa
vored abodes of life and light.

On no subject are our ideas more warped and
pitiable than on death. Instead of the sym
pathy, the friendly union, of life and death so
apparent in Nature, we are taught that death
is an accident, a deplorable punishment for
the oldest sin, the arch-enemy of life, etc.
Town children, especially, are steeped in this
death orthodoxy, for the natural beauties of
death are seldom seen or taught in towns.

Of death among our own species, to say noth
ing of the thousand styles and modes of mur
der, our best memories, even among happy
deaths, yield groans and tears, mingled with
morbid exultation; burial companies, black in
cloth and countenance; and, last of all, a black
box burial in an ill-omened place, haunted by
imaginary glooms and ghosts of every degree.
Thus death becomes fearful, and the most
notable and incredible thing heard around a
death-bed is, "I fear not to die."

But let children walk with Nature, let them
see the beautiful blendings and communions of

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CAMPING AMONG THE TOMBS

death and life, their joyous inseparable unity,
as taught in woods and meadows, plains and
mountains and streams of our blessed star, and
they will learn that death is stingless indeed,
and as beautiful as life, and that the grave has
no victory, for it never fights. All is divine
harmony.

Most of the few graves of Bonaventure are
planted with flowers. There is generally a mag
nolia at the head, near the strictly erect marble,
a rose-bush or two at the foot, and some violets
and showy exotics along the sides or on the
tops. All is enclosed by a black iron railing,
composed of rigid bars that might have been
spears or bludgeons from a battlefield in Pan
demonium.

It is interesting to observe how assiduously
Nature seeks to remedy these labored art blun
ders. She corrodes the iron and marble, and
gradually levels the hill which is always heaped
up, as if a sufficiently heavy quantity of clods
could not be laid on the dead. Arching grasses
come one by one; seeds come flying on downy
wings, silent as fate, to give life's dearest beauty
for the ashes of art; and strong evergreen arms
laden with ferns and tillandsia drapery are
spread over all — Life at work everywhere, ob
literating all memory of the confusion of man.

In Georgia many graves are covered with a

A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

common shingle roof, supported on four posts
as the cover of a well, as if rain and sunshine
were not regarded as blessings. Perhaps, in this
hot and insalubrious climate, moisture and sun-
heat are considered necessary evils to which
they do not wish to expose their dead.

The money package that I was expecting did
not arrive until the following week. After stop
ping the first night at the cheap, disreputable-
looking hotel, I had only about a dollar and a
half left in my purse, and so was compelled to
camp out to make it last in buying only bread.
I went out of the noisy town to seek a sleeping
place that was not marshy. After gaining the
outskirts of the town toward the sea, I found
some low sand dunes, yellow with flowering
solidagoes.

I wandered wearily from dune to dune sink
ing ankle-deep in the sand, searching for a
place to sleep beneath the tall flowers, free from
insects and snakes, and above all from my fel
low man. But idle negroes were prowling about
everywhere, and I was afraid. The wind had
strange sounds, waving the heavy panicles over
my head, and I feared sickness from malaria
so prevalent here, when I suddenly thought of
the graveyard.

"There," thought I, "is an ideal place for
a penniless wanderer. There no superstitious

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CAMPING AMONG THE TOMBS

prowling mischief-maker dares venture for fear
of haunting ghosts, while for me there will be
God's rest and peace. And then, if I am to be
exposed to unhealthy vapors, I shall have capi
tal compensation in seeing those grand oaks
in the moonlight, with all the impressive and
nameless influences of this lonely beautiful
place."

By this time it was near sunset, and I has
tened across the common to the road and set off
for Bona venture, delighted with my choice, and
almost glad to find that necessity had furnished
me with so good an excuse for doing what I
knew my mother would censure; for she made
me promise I would not lie out-of-doors if I
could possibly avoid it. The sun was set ere
I was past the negroes' huts and rice fields,
and I arrived near the graves in the silent hour
of the gloaming.

I was very thirsty after walking so long in
the muggy heat, a distance of three or four
miles from the city, to get to this graveyard.
A dull, sluggish, coffee-colored stream flows
under the road just outside the graveyard gar
den park, from which I managed to get a drink
after breaking a way down to the water through
a dense fringe of bushes, daring the snakes and
alligators in the dark. Thus refreshed I en
tered the weird and beautiful abode of the dead.

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A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

All the avenue where I walked was in
shadow, but an exposed tombstone frequently
shone out in startling whiteness on either hand,
and thickets of sparkleberry bushes gleamed
like heaps of crystals. Not a breath of air moved
the gray moss, and the great black arms of the
trees met overhead and covered the avenue.
But the canopy was fissured by many a netted
seam and leafy-edged opening, through which
the moonlight sifted in auroral rays, broidering
the blackness in silvery light. Though tired
I sauntered awhile enchanted, then lay down
under one of the great oaks. I found a little
mound that served for a pillow, placed my
plant press and bag beside me and rested fairly
well, though somewhat disturbed by large
prickly-footed beetles creeping across my hands
and face, and by a lot of hungry stinging mos
quitoes.

When I awoke, the sun was up and all Na
ture was rejoicing. Some birds had discovered
me as an intruder, and were making a great
ado in interesting language and gestures. I
heard the screaming of the bald eagles, and of
some strange waders in the rushes. I heard the
hum of Savannah with the long jarring hallos of
negroes far away. On rising I found that my
head had been resting on a grave, and though
my sleep had not been quite so sound as that

306

CAMPING AMONG THE TOMBS

of the person below, I arose refreshed, and look
ing about me, the morning sunbeams pouring
through the oaks and gardens dripping with
dew, the beauty displayed was so glorious and
exhilarating that hunger and care seemed only
a dream.

Eating a breakfast cracker or two and watch
ing for a few hours the beautiful light, birds,
squirrels, and insects, I returned to Savannah,
to find that my money package had not yet ar
rived. I then decided to go early to the grave
yard and make a nest with a roof to keep off
the dew, as there was no way of finding out how
long I might have to stay. I chose a hidden
spot in a dense thicket of sparkleberry bushes,
near the right bank of the Savannah River,
where the bald eagles and a multitude of sing
ing birds roosted. It was so well hidden that
I had to carefully fix its compass bearing in my
mind from a mark I made on the side of the
main avenue, that I might be able to find it at
bedtime.

I used four of the bushes as corner posts for
my little hut, which was about four or five
feet long by about three or four in width, tied
little branches across from forks in the bushes
to support a roof of rushes, and spread a thick
mattress of Long Moss over the floor for a bed.
My whole establishment was on so small a

307

A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

scale that I could have taken up not only my
bed, but my whole house, and walked. There
I lay that night, eating a few crackers.

Next day I returned to the town and was
disappointed as usual in obtaining money. So
after spending the day looking at the plants in
the gardens of the fine residences and town
squares, I returned to my graveyard home.
That I might not be observed and suspected
of hiding, as if I had committed a crime, I
always went home after dark, and one night
as I lay down in my moss nest I felt some cold
blooded creature in it; whether a snake or
simply a frog or toad I do not know, but in
stinctively, instead of drawing back my hand,
I grasped the poor creature and threw it over
the tops of the bushes. That was the only sig
nificant disturbance or fright that I got.

In the morning everything seemed divine.
Only squirrels, sunbeams, and birds came
about me. I was awakened every morning by
these little singers after they discovered my
nest. Instead of serenely singing their morning
songs they at first came within two or three
feet of the hut, and, looking in at me through
the leaves, chattered and scolded in half -angry,
half-wondering tones. The crowd constantly
increased, attracted by the disturbance. Thus
I began to get acquainted with my bird neigh-

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CAMPING AMONG THE TOMBS

bors in this blessed wilderness, and after they
learned that I meant them no ill they scolded
less and sang more.

After five days of this graveyard life I saw
that even with living on three or four cents a
day my last twenty-five cents would soon be
spent, and after trying again and again unsuc
cessfully to find some employment, began to
think that I must strike farther out into the
country, but still within reach of town, until
I came to some grain or rice field that had not
yet been harvested, trusting that I could live
indefinitely on toasted or raw corn, or rice.

By this time I was becoming faint, and in
making the journey to the town was alarmed to
find myself growing staggery and giddy. The
ground ahead seemed to be rising up in front
of me, and the little streams in the ditches on
the sides of the road seemed to be flowing up
hill. Then I realized that I was becoming dan
gerously hungry and became more than ever
anxious to receive that money package.

To my delight this fifth or sixth morning
when I inquired if the money package had
come the clerk replied that it had, but that he
could not deliver it without my being identi
fied. I said, "Well, here! read my brother's
letter," handing it to him. "It states the
amount in the package, where it came from,

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A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

the day it was put into the office at Portage
City, and I should think that would be enough."
He said, "No, that is not enough. How do I
know that this letter is yours? You may have
stolen it. How do I know that you are John
Muir?"

I said, "Well, don't you see that this letter
indicates that I am a botanist? For in it my
brother says, ' I hope you are having a good time
and finding many new plants.' Now, you say
that I might have stolen this letter from John
Muir, and in that way have become aware of
there being a money package to arrive from
Portage for him. But the letter proves that
John Muir must be a botanist, and though, as
you say, his letter might have been stolen, it
would hardly be likely that the robber would
be able to steal John Muir's knowledge of
botany. Now I suppose, of course, that you
have been to school and know something of
botany. Examine me and see if I know any
thing about it."

At this he laughed good-naturedly, evidently
feeling the force of my argument, and, perhaps,
pitying me on account of looking pale and
hungry, he turned and rapped at the door of a
private office, — probably the Manager's, —
called him out and said, "Mr. So and So, here
is a man who has inquired every day for the

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last week or so for a money package from Por
tage, Wisconsin. He is a stranger in the city
with no one to identify him. He states correctly
the amount and the name of the sender. He
has shown me a letter which indicates that Mr.
Muir is a botanist, and that although a trav
eling companion may have stolen Mr. Muir's
letter, he could not have stolen his botany, and
requests us to examine him."

The head official smiled, took a good stare at
my face, waved his hand, and said, "Let him
have it." Gladly I pocketed my money, and
had not gone along the street more than a few
rods before I met a very large negro woman with
a tray of gingerbread, in which I immediately
invested some of my new wealth, and walked
rejoicingly, munching along the street, making
no attempt to conceal the pleasure I had in
eating. Then, still hunting for more food, I
found a sort of eating-place in a market and
had a large regular meal on top of the^ginger-
bread ! Thus my ' ' marching through Georgia ' '
terminated handsomely in a jubilee of bread.

CHAPTER V

THROUGH FLORIDA SWAMPS AND FORESTS

OF the people of the States that I have now
passed, I best like the Georgians. They have
charming manners, and their dwellings are
mostly larger and better than those of adjacent
States. However costly or ornamental their
homes or then- manners, they do not, like those
of the New Englander, appear as the fruits of
intense and painful sacrifice and training, but
are entirely divested of artificial weights and
measures, and seem to pervade and twine about
their characters as spontaneous growths with
the durability and charm of living nature.

In particular, Georgians, even the common
est, have a most charmingly cordial way of say
ing to strangers, as they proceed on their jour
ney, "I wish you well, sir." The negroes of
Georgia, too, are extremely mannerly and po
lite, and appear always to be delighted to find
opportunity for obliging anybody.

Athens contains many beautiful residences.
I never before saw so much about a home that
was so evidently done for beauty only, although
this is by no means a universal characteristic of
Georgian homes. Nearly all well-to-do farmers'
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IN FLORIDA SWAMPS AND FORESTS

families in Georgia and Tennessee spin and
weave their own cloth. This work is almost all
done by the mothers and daughters and con
sumes much of their time.

The traces of war are apparent not only on
the broken fields, burnt fences, mills, and woods
ruthlessly slaughtered, but also on the counte
nances of the people. A few years after a forest
has been burned another generation of bright
and happy trees arises, in purest, freshest vigor;
only the old trees, wholly or half dead, bear
marks of the calamity. So with the people of
this war-field. Happy, unscarred, and unclouded
youth is growing up around the aged, half-con
sumed, and fallen parents, who bear in sad
measure the ineffaceable marks of the farthest-
reaching and most infernal of all civilized
calamities.

Since the commencement of my floral pil
grimage I have seen much that is not only new,
but altogether unallied, unacquainted with the
plants of my former life. I have seen magno
lias, tupelo, live-oak, Kentucky oak, tilland-
sia, long-leafed pine, palmetto, schrankia, and
whole forests of strange trees and vine-tied
thickets of blooming shrubs; whole meadow-
fuls of magnificent bamboo and lakefuls of lilies,
all new to me; yet I still press eagerly on to
Florida as the special home of the tropical

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A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

plants I am looking for, and I feel sure I shall
not be disappointed.

The same day on which the money arrived
I took passage on the steamship Sylvan Shore
for Fernandina, Florida. The daylight part of
this sail along the coast of Florida was full of
novelty, and by association awakened memories
of my Scottish days at Dunbar on the Firth of
Forth.

On board I had civilized conversation with a
Southern planter on topics that are found float
ing in the mind of every white man down here
who has a single thought. I also met a brother
Scotchman, who was especially interesting and
had some ideas outside of Southern politics.
Altogether my half-day and night on board
the steamer were pleasant, and carried me past
a very sickly, entangled, overflowed, and un-
walkable piece of forest.

It is pretty well known that a short geologi
cal time ago the ocean covered the sandy level
margin, extending from the foot of the Alle-
ghanies to the present coast-line, and in reced
ing left many basins for lakes and swamps.
The land is still encroaching on the sea, and
it does so not evenly, in a regular line, but in
fringing lagoons and inlets and dotlike coral
islands.

It is on the coast strip of isles and peninsulas
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IN FLORIDA SWAMPS AND FORESTS

that sea-island cotton is grown. Some of these
small islands are afloat, anchored only by the
roots of mangroves and rushes. For a few hours
our steamer sailed in the open sea, exposed to
its waves, but most of the time she threaded
her way among the lagoons, the home of alli
gators and countless ducks and waders.

October 15. To-day, at last, I reached Florida,
the so-called "Land of Flowers," that I had so
long waited for, wondering if after all my long
ings and prayers would be in vain, and I should
die without a glimpse of the flowery Canaan.
But here it is, at the distance of a few yards!
— a flat, watery, reedy coast, with clumps of
mangrove and forests of moss-dressed, strange
trees appearing low in the distance. The steamer
finds her way among the reedy islands like a
duck, and I step on a rickety wharf. A few steps
more take me to a rickety town, Fernandina.
I discover a baker, buy some bread, and with
out asking a single question, make for the
shady, gloomy groves.

In visiting Florida in dreams, of either day
or night, I always came suddenly on a close
forest of trees, every one in flower, and bent
down and entangled to network by luxuriant,
bright-blooming vines, and over all a flood of
bright sunlight. But such was not the gate
by which I entered the promised land. Salt
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A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

marshes, belonging more to the sea than to the
land; with groves here and there, green and un-
flowered, sunk to the shoulders in sedges and
rushes; with trees farther back, ill defined in
their boundary, and instead of rising in hilly
waves and swellings, stretching inland in low
water-like levels.

We were all discharged by the captain of the
steamer without breakfast, and, after meeting
and examining the new plants that crowded
about me, I threw down my press and little
bag beneath a thicket, where there was a dry
spot on some broken heaps of grass and roots,
something like a deserted muskrat house, and
applied myself to my bread breakfast. Every
thing in earth and sky had an impression of
strangeness; not a mark of friendly recognition,
not a breath, not a spirit whisper of sympathy
came from anything about me, and of course
I was lonely. I lay on my elbow eating my
bread, gazing, and listening to the profound
strangeness.

While thus engaged I was startled from these
gatherings of melancholy by a rustling sound
in the rushes behind me. Had my mind been
in health, and my body not starved, I should
only have turned calmly to the noise. But in
this half-starved, unfriended condition I could
have no healthy thought, and I at once believed
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IN FLORIDA SWAMPS AND FORESTS

that the sound came from an alligator. I fan
cied I could feel the stroke of his long notched
tail, and could see his big jaws and rows of
teeth, closing with a springy snap on me, as I
had seen in pictures.

Well, I don't know the exact measure of my
fright either in time or pain, but when I did
come to a knowledge of the truth, my man-
eating alligator became a tall white crane, hand
some as a minister from spirit land — "only
that." I was ashamed and tried to excuse my
self on account of Bonaventure anxiety and
hunger.

Florida is so watery and vine-tied that path
less wanderings are not easily possible in any
direction. I started to cross the State by a gap
hewn for the locomotive, walking sometimes
between the rails, stepping from tie to tie, or
walking on the strip of sand at the sides, gazing
into the mysterious forest, Nature's own. It is
impossible to write the dimmest picture of
plant grandeur so redundant, unfathomable.

Short was the measure of my walk to-day.
A new, canelike grass, or big lily, or gorgeous
flower belonging to tree or vine, would catch
my attention, and I would throw down my bag
and press and splash through the coffee-brown
water for specimens. Frequently I sank deeper
and deeper until compelled to turn back and
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A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

make the attempt in another and still another
place. Oftentimes I was tangled in a laby
rinth of armed vines like a fly in a spider-web.
At all times, whether wading or climbing a tree
for specimens of fruit, I was overwhelmed with
the vastness and unapproachableness of the
great guarded sea of sunny plants.

Magnolia grandiflora I had seen in Georgia;
but its home, its better land, is here. Its large
dark-green leaves, glossy bright above and
rusty brown beneath, gleam and mirror the
sunbeams most gloriously among countless
flower-heaps of the climbing, smothering vines.
It is bright also in fruit and more tropical in
form and expression than the orange. It speaks
itself a prince among its fellows.

Occasionally I came to a little strip of open
sand, planted with pine (Pinus palustris or
Cubensis). Even these spots were mostly wet,
though lighted with free sunshine, and adorned
with purple liatris, and orange-colored Osmunda
cinnamomea. But the grandest discovery of
this great wild day was the palmetto.

I was meeting so many strange plants that I
was much excited, making many stops to get
specimens. But I could not force my way far
through the swampy forest, although so tempt
ing and full of promise. Regardless of water
snakes or insects, I endeavored repeatedly to

318

IN FLORIDA SWAMPS AND FORESTS

force a way through the tough vine-tangles,
but seldom succeeded in getting farther than a
few hundred yards.

It was while feeling sad to think that I was
only walking on the edge of the vast wood, that
I caught sight of the first palmetto in a grassy
place, standing almost alone. A few magnolias
were near it, and bald cypresses, but it was not
shaded by them. They tell us that plants are
perishable, soulless creatures, that only man is
immortal, etc.; but this, I think, is something
that we know very nearly nothing about. Any
how, this palm was indescribably impressive
and told me grander things than I ever got
from human priest.

This vegetable has a plain gray shaft, round
as a broom-handle, and a crown of varnished
channeled leaves. It is a plainer plant than the
humblest of Wisconsin oaks; but, whether rock
ing and rustling in the wind or poised thought
ful and calm in the sunshine, it has a power of
expression not excelled by any plant high or low
that I have met in my whole walk thus far.

This, my first specimen, was not very tall,
only about twenty-five feet high, with fifteen or
twenty leaves, arching equally and evenly all
around. Each leaf was about ten feet in length,
the blade four feet, the stalk six. The leaves are
channeled like half-open clams and are highly
319

A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

polished, so that they reflect the sunlight like
glass. The undeveloped leaves on the top stand
erect, closely folded, all together forming an
oval crown over which the tropic light is poured
and reflected from its slanting mirrors in sparks
and splinters and long-rayed stars.

I am now in the hot gardens of the sun, where
the palm meets the pine, longed and prayed
for and often visited in dreams, and, though
lonely to-night amid this multitude of stran
gers, strange plants, strange winds blowing gen
tly, whispering, cooing, in a language I never
learned, and strange birds also, everything solid
or spiritual full of influences that I never before
felt, yet I thank the Lord with all my heart for
his goodness in granting me admission to this
magnificent realm.

October 16. Last evening when I was in the
trackless woods, the great mysterious night be
coming more mysterious in the thickening dark
ness, I gave up hope of finding food or a house
bed, and searched only for a dry spot on which
to sleep safely hidden from wild, runaway
negroes. I walked rapidly for hours in the wet,
level woods, but not a foot of dry ground could
I find. Hollow- voiced owls were calling with
out intermission. All manner of night sounds
came from strange insects and beasts, one by
one, or crowded together. All had a home

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IN FLORIDA SWAMPS AND FORESTS

but me. Jacob on the dry plains of Padan-aram,
with a stone pillow, must have been compara
tively happy.

When I came to an open place where pines
grew it was about ten o'clock, and I thought
that now at last I would find dry ground. But
even the sandy barren was wet, and I had to
grope in the dark a long time, feeling the ground
with my hands when my feet ceased to plash,
before I at last discovered a little hillock dry
enough to lie down on. I ate a piece of bread
that I fortunately had in my bag, drank some
of the brown water about my precious hillock,
and lay down. The noisiest of the unseen wit
nesses around me were the owls, who pronounced
their gloomy speeches with profound emphasis,
but did not prevent the coming of sleep to heal
weariness.

In the morning I was cold and wet with dew,
and I set out breakfastless. Flowers and beauty
I had in abundance, but no bread. A serious
matter is this bread which perishes, and, could
it be dispensed with, I doubt if civilization would
ever see me again. I walked briskly, watching
for a house, as well as the grand assemblies of
novel plants.

Near the middle of the forenoon I came to a
shanty where a party of loggers were getting
out long pines for ship spars. They were the

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A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

wildest of all the white savages I have met.
The long-haired ex-guerrillas of the mountains
of Tennessee and North Carolina are uncivi
lized fellows ; but for downright barbarism these
Florida loggers excel. Nevertheless, they gave
me a portion of their yellow pork and hominy
without either apparent hospitality or a grudge,
and I was glad to escape to the forest again.

A few hours later I dined with three men and
three dogs. I was viciously attacked by the lat
ter, who undertook to undress me with their
teeth. I was nearly dragged down backward,
but escaped unbitten. Liver pie, mixed with
sweet potatoes and fat duff, was set before me,
and after I had finished a moderate portion,
one of the men, turning to his companion, re
marked: "Wall, I guess that man quit eatin'
'cause he had nothin' more to eat. I '11 get him
more potato."

Arrived at a place on the margin of a stagnant
pool where an alligator had been rolling and
sunning himself. "See," said a man who lived
here, "see, what a track that is! He must have
been a mighty big fellow. Alligators wallow
like hogs and like to lie in the sun. I'd like a
shot at that fellow." Here followed a long re
cital of bloody combats with the scaly enemy,
in many of which he had, of course, taken an
important part. Alligators are said to be ex-

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IN FLORIDA SWAMPS AND FORESTS

tremely fond of negroes and dogs, and natu
rally the dogs and negroes are afraid of them.
Another man that I met to-day pointed to a
shallow, grassy pond before his door. " There,"
said he, "I once had a tough fight with an alli
gator. He caught my dog. I heard him howl
ing, and as he was one of my best hunters I
tried hard to save him. The water was only
about knee-deep and I ran up to the alligator.
It was only a small one about four feet long,
and was having trouble in its efforts to drown
the dog in the shallow water. I scared him and
made him let go his hold, but before the poor
crippled dog could reach the shore he was
caught again, and when I went at the alligator
with a knife, it seized my arm. If it had been a
little stronger it might have eaten me instead
of my dog."

I never in all my travels saw more than one,
though they are said to be abundant in most
of the swamps, and frequently attain a length
of nine or ten feet. It is reported, also, that
they are very savage, oftentimes attacking men
in boats. These independent inhabitants of the
sluggish waters of this low coast cannot be
called the friends of man, though I heard of one
big fellow that was caught young and was par
tially civilized and made to work in harness.

Many good people believe that alligators

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A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

were created by the Devil, thus accounting for
their all-consuming appetite and ugliness. But
doubtless these creatures are happy and fill
the place assigned them by the great Creator of
us all. Fierce and cruel they appear to us, but
beautiful in the eyes of God. They, also, are
his children, for He hears their cries, cares for
them tenderly, and provides their daily bread.

The antipathies existing in the Lord's great
animal family must be wisely planned, like
balanced repulsion and attraction in the min
eral kingdom. How narrow we selfish, con
ceited creatures are in our sympathies! how
blind to the rights of all the rest of creation!
With what dismal irreverence we speak of our
fellow mortals! Though alligators, snakes,
etc., naturally repel us, they are not mys
terious evils. They dwell happily in these
flowery wilds, are part of God's family, un-
fallen, undepraved, and cared for with the same
species of tenderness and love as is bestowed
on angels in heaven or saints on earth.

I think that most of the antipathies which
haunt and terrify us are morbid productions of
ignorance and weakness. I have better thoughts
of those alligators now that I have seen them
at home. Honorable representatives of the
great saurians of an older creation, may you
long enjoy your lilies and rushes, and be

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IN FLORIDA SWAMPS AND FORESTS

blessed now and then with a mouthful of terror-
stricken man by way of dainty !

Found a beautiful lycopodium to-day, and
many grasses in the dry sunlit places called
" barrens," " hummocks," " savannas," etc.
Ferns also are abundant. What a flood of
heat and light is daily poured out on these
beautiful openings and intertangled woods!
"The land of the sunny South," we say, but
no part of our diversified country is more
shaded and covered from sunshine. Many a
sunny sheet of plain and prairie break the
continuity of the forests of the North and
West, and the forests themselves are mostly
lighted also, pierced with direct ray lances, or
[the sunlight] passing to the earth and the lowly
plants in filtered softness through translucent
leaves. But in the dense Florida forests sunlight
cannot enter. It falls on the evergreen roof
and rebounds in long silvery lances and flashy
spray. In many places there is not light suffi
cient to feed a single green leaf on these dark
forest floors. All that the eye can reach is just
a maze of tree stems and crooked leafless vine
strings. All the flowers, all the verdure, all the
glory is up in the light.

The streams of Florida are still young, and
in many places are untraceable. I expected to
find these streams a little discolored from the

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A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

vegetable matter that I knew they must con
tain, and I was sure that in so flat a country I
should not find any considerable falls or long
rapids. The streams of upper Georgia are al
most unapproachable in some places on ac
count of luxuriant bordering vines, but the
banks are nevertheless high and well defined.
Florida streams are not yet possessed of banks
and braes and definite channels. Their waters
in deep places are black as ink, perfectly
opaque, and glossy on the surface as if var
nished. It often is difficult to ascertain which
way they are flowing or creeping, so slowly
and so widely do they circulate through the
tree-tangles and swamps of the woods. The
flowers here are strangers to me, but not more
so than the rivers and lakes. Most streams ap
pear to travel through a country with thoughts
and plans for something beyond. But those of
Florida are at home, do not appear to be travel
ing at all, and seem to know nothing of the sea.
October 17. Found a small, silvery-leafed
magnolia, a bush ten feet high. Passed through
a good many miles of open level pine barrens,
as bounteously lighted as the " openings" of
Wisconsin. The pines are rather small, are
planted sparsely and pretty evenly on these
sandy flats not long risen from the sea. Scarcely
a specimen of any other tree is to be found as-

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IN FLORIDA SWAMPS AND FORESTS

sociated with the pine. But there are some
thickets of the little saw palmettoes and a mag
nificent assemblage of tall grasses, their splen
did panicles waving grandly in the warm wind,
and making low tuneful changes in the glisten
ing light that is flashed from their bent stems.
Not a pine, not a palm, in all this garden
excels these stately grass plants in beauty of
wind-waving gestures. Here are panicles that
are one mass of refined purple; others that
have flowers as yellow as ripe oranges, and
stems polished and shining like steel wire.
Some of the species are grouped in groves and
thickets like trees, while others may be seen
waving without any companions in sight. Some
of them have wide-branching panicles like Ken
tucky oaks, others with a few tassels of spike-
lets drooping from a tall, leafless stem. But all
of them are beautiful beyond the reach of lan
guage. I rejoice that God has "so clothed the
grass of the field. " How strangely we are
blinded to beauty and color, form and motion,
by comparative size! For example, we measure
grasses by our own stature and by the height
and bulkiness of trees. But what is the .size of
the greatest man, or the tallest tree that ever
overtopped a grass! Compared with other
things in God's creation the difference is noth
ing. We all are only microscopic animalcula.

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A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

October 18. Am walking on land that is almost
dry. The dead levels are interrupted here and
there by sandy waves a few feet in height. It-
is said that not a point in all Florida is more
than three hundred feet above sea-level — a
country where but little grading is required for
roads, but much bridging, and boring of many
tunnels through forests.

Before reaching this open ground, in a lonely,
swampy place in the woods, I met a large, mus
cular, brawny young negro, who eyed me with
glaring, wistful curiosity. I was very thirsty
at the time, and inquired of the man if there
were any houses or springs near by where I
could get a drink. "Oh, yes," he replied, still
eagerly searching me with his wild eyes. Then
he inquired where I came from, where I was
going, and what brought me to such a wild
country, where I was liable to be robbed, and
perhaps killed.

"Oh, I am not afraid of any one robbing
me," I said, "for I don't carry anything worth
stealing." "Yes," said he, "but you can't
travel without money." I started to walk on,
but he blocked my way. Then I noticed that he
was trembling, and it flashed upon me all at
once that he was thinking of knocking me down
in order to rob me. After glaring at my pockets
as if searching for weapons, he stammered in

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IN FLORIDA SWAMPS AND FORESTS

a quavering voice, "Do you carry shooting-
irons?" His motives, which I ought to have
noted sooner, now were apparent to me. Though
I had no pistol, I instinctively threw my hand
back to my pistol pocket and, with my eyes
fixed on his, I marched up close to him and
said, "I allow people to find out if I am armed
or not." Then he quailed, stepped aside, and
allowed me to pass, for fear of being shot. This
was evidently a narrow escape.

A few miles farther on I came to a cotton-
field, to patches of sugar cane, carefully fenced,
and some respectable-looking houses with gar
dens. These little fenced fields look as if they
were intended to be for plants what cages are
for birds. Discovered a large, treelike cactus
in a dooryard; a small species was abundant
on the sand-hillocks. Reached Gainesville late
in the night.

When within three or four miles of the town
I noticed a light off in the pine woods. As I
was very thirsty, I thought I would venture
toward it with the hope of obtaining water. In
creeping cautiously and noiselessly through the
grass to discover whether or no it was a camp
of robber negroes, I came suddenly in full view
of the best lighted and most primitive of all
the domestic establishments I have yet seen
in town or grove. There was, first of all, a big,

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A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

glowing log fire, illuminating the overleaning
bushes and trees, bringing out leaf and spray
with more than noonday distinctness, and
making still darker the surrounding wood. In
the center of this globe of light sat two negroes.
I could see their ivory gleaming from the great
lips, and their smooth cheeks flashing off light
as if made of glass. Seen anywhere but in the
South, the glossy pair would have been taken
for twin devils, but here it was only a negro and
his wife at their supper.

I ventured forward to the radiant presence
of the black pair, and, after being stared at
with that desperate fixedness which is said to
subdue the lion, I was handed water in a gourd
from somewhere out of the darkness. I was
standing for a moment beside the big fire, look
ing at the unsurpassable simplicity of the es
tablishment, and asking questions about the
road to Gainesville, when my attention was
called to a black lump of something lying in
the ashes of the fire. It seemed to be made of
rubber; but ere I had time for much speculation
the woman bent wooingly over the black object
and said with motherly kindness, "Come,
honey, eat yo' hominy."

At the sound of " hominy" the rubber gave
strong manifestations of vitality and proved to
be a burly little negro boy, rising from the earth
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IN FLORIDA SWAMPS AND FORESTS

naked as to the earth he came. Had he emerged
from the black muck of a marsh, we might eas
ily have believed that the Lord had manufac
tured him like Adam direct from the earth.

Surely, thought I, as I started for Gaines
ville, surely I am now coming to the tropics,
where the inhabitants wear nothing but their
own skins. This fashion is sufficiently simple,
— "no troublesome disguises," as Milton calls
clothing, — but it certainly is not quite in har
mony with Nature. Birds make nests and nearly
all beasts make some kind of bed for their young ;
but these negroes allow their younglings to lie
nestless and naked in the dirt.

Gainesville is rather attractive — an oasis
in the desert, compared with other villages.
It gets its life from the few plantations located
about it on dry ground that rises islandlike a
few feet above the swamps. Obtained food and
lodging at a sort of tavern.

October 19. Dry land nearly all day. En
countered limestone, flint, coral, shells, etc.
Passed several thrifty cotton plantations with
comfortable residences, contrasting sharply
with the squalid hovels of my first days in
Florida. Found a single specimen of a hand
some little plant, which at once, in some mys
terious way, brought to mind a young friend in
Indiana. How wonderfully our thoughts and

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A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

impressions are stored! There is that in the
glance of a flower which may at times control
the greatest of creation's braggart lords.

The magnolia is much more abundant here.
It forms groves and almost exclusively frosts
the edges of ponds and the banks of streams.
The easy, dignified simplicity of this noble
tree, its plain leaf endowed with superb rich
ness of color and form, its open branches fes
tooned with graceful vines and tillandsia, its
showy crimson fruit, and its magnificent fra
grant white flowers make Magnolia grandiflora
the most lovable of Florida trees.

Discovered a great many beautiful poly-
gonums, petalostemons, and yellow leguminous
vines. Passed over fine sunny areas of the
long-leafed and Cuban pines, which were every
where accompanied by fine grasses and solida-
goes. Wild orange groves are said to be rather
common here, but I have seen only limes grow
ing wild in the woods.

Came to a hut about noon, and, being weary
and hungry, asked if I could have dinner. After
serious consultation I was told to wait, that
dinner would soon be ready. I saw only the
man and his wife. If they had children they
may have been hidden in the weeds on account
of nakedness. Both were suffering from ma
larial fever, and were very dirty. But they did

332

IN FLORIDA SWAMPS AND FORESTS

not appear to have any realizing sense of dis
comfort from either the one or the other of
these misfortunes. The dirt which encircled the
countenances of these people did not, like the
common dirt of the North, stick on the skin
in bold union like plaster or paint, but ap
peared to stand out a little on contact like
a hazy, misty, half-aerial mud envelope, the
most diseased and incurable dirt that I ever
saw, evidently desperately chronic and hered
itary.

It seems impossible that children from such
parents could ever be clean. Dirt and disease
are dreadful enough when separate, but com
bined are inconceivably horrible. The neat
cottage with a fragrant circumference of
thyme and honeysuckle is almost unknown
here. I have seen dirt on garments regularly
stratified, the various strata no doubt indi
cating different periods of life. Some of them,
perhaps, were annual layers, furnishing, like
those of trees, a means of determining the
age. Man and other civilized animals are the
only creatures that ever become dirty.

Slept in the barrens at the side of a log. Suf
fered from cold and was drenched with dew.
What a comfort a companion would be in the
dark loneliness of such nights! Did not dare
to make a fire for fear of discovery by robber
333

A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

negroes, who, I was warned, would kill a man
for a dollar or two. Had a long walk after night
fall, hoping to discover a house. Became very
thirsty and often was compelled to drink from
slimy pools groped for in the grass, with the
fear of alligators before my eyes.

October 20. Swamp very dense during this
day's journey. Almost one continuous sheet
of water covered with aquatic trees and vines.
No stream that I crossed to-day appeared to
have the least idea where it was going. Saw an
alligator plash into the sedgy brown water by
the roadside from an old log.

Arrived at night at the house of Captain
Simmons, one of the very few scholarly, intel
ligent men that I have met in Florida. He had
been an officer hi the Confederate army in the
war and was, of course, prejudiced against the
North, but polite and kind to me, nevertheless.
Our conversation, as we sat by the light of
the fire, was on the one great question, slavery
and its concomitants. I managed, however, to
switch off to something more congenial occa
sionally — the birds of the neighborhood, the
animals, the climate, and what spring, summer,
and winter are like in these parts.

About the climate I could not get much in
formation, as he had always lived in the South
and, of course, saw nothing extraordinary in
334

IN FLORIDA SWAMPS AND FORESTS

weather to which he had always been accus
tomed. But in speaking of animals, he at once
became enthusiastic and told many stories of
hairbreadth escapes, in the woods about his
house, from bears, hungry alligators, wounded
deer, etc. "And now/' said he, forgetting in
his kindness that I was from the hated North,
"you must stay with me a few days. Deer are
abundant. I will lend you a rifle and we'll
go hunting. I hunt whenever I wish venison,
and I can get it about as easily from the woods
near by as a shepherd can get mutton out of
his flock. And perhaps we will see a bear, for
they are far from scarce here, and there are
some big gray wolves, too."

I expressed a wish to see some large alliga
tors. "Oh, well," said he, "I can take you
where you will see plenty of those fellows, but
they are not much to look at. I once got a good
look at an alligator that was lying at the bottom
of still, transparent water, and I think that his
eyes were the most impressively cold and cruel
of any animal I have seen. Many alligators
go out to sea among the keys. These sea alli
gators are the largest and most ferocious, and
sometimes attack people by trying to strike
them with their tails when they are out fishing
in boats.

"Another thing I wish you to see," he con-

335

A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

tinued, "is a palmetto grove on a rich hummock
a few miles from here. The grove is about seven
miles in length by three in breadth. The ground
is covered with long grass, uninterrupted with
bushes or other trees. It is the finest grove of
palmettoes I have ever seen and I have often
times thought that it would make a fine subject
for an artist."

I concluded to stop — more to see this won
derful palmetto hummock than to hunt. Be
sides, I was weary and the prospect of getting
a little rest was a tempting consideration after
so many restless nights and long, hard walks
by day.

October 21. Having outlived the sangui
nary hunters' tales of my loquacious host,
and breakfasted sumptuously on fresh veni
son and " caller" fish from the sea, I set out
for the grand palm grove. I had seen these
dazzling sun-children in every day of my walk
through Florida, but they were usually stand
ing solitary, or in groups of three or four; but
to-day I was to see them by the mile. The
captain led me a short distance through his
corn-field and showed me a trail which would
conduct me to the palmy hummock. He pointed
out the general direction, which I noted upon
my compass.

"Now," said he, "at the other side of my

336

IN FLORIDA SWAMPS AND FORESTS

farthest field you will come to a jungle of cat-
briers, but will be able to pass them if you
manage to keep the trail. You will find that
the way is not by any means well marked, for
in passing through a broad swamp the trail
makes a good many abrupt turns to avoid deep
water, fallen trees, or impenetrable thickets.
You will have to wade a good deal, and in pass-
mg the water-covered places you will have to
watch for the point where the trail comes out
on the opposite side."

I made my way through the briers, which in
strength and ferocity equaled those of Tennes
see, followed the path through all of its dim
waverings, waded the many opposing pools,
and, emerging suddenly from the leafy dark
ness of the swamp forest, at last stood free
and unshaded on the border of the sun-drenched
palm garden. 'It was a level area of grasses and
sedges, smooth as a prairie, well starred with
flowers, and bounded like a clearing by a wall
of vine-laden trees.

The palms had full possession and appeared
to enjoy their sunny home. There was no
jostling, no apparent effort to outgrow each
other. Abundance of sunlight was there for
every crown, and plenty to fall between. I
walked enchanted in their midst. What a
landscape! Only palms as far as the eye could
337

A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

reach! Smooth pillars rising from the grass,
each capped with a sphere of leaves, shining
in the sun as bright as a star. The silence and
calm were as deep as ever I found in the dark,
solemn pine woods of Canada, and that con
tentment which is an attribute of the best of
God's plant people was as impressively felt
in this alligator wilderness as in the homes of
the happy, healthy people of the North.

The admirable Linnaeus calls palms "the
princes of the vegetable world." I know that
there is grandeur and nobility in their char
acter, and that there are palms nobler far than
these. But in rank they appear to me to stand
below both the oak and the pine. The motions
of the palms, their gestures, are not very grace
ful. They appear to best advantage when per
fectly motionless in the noontide calm and in
tensity of light. But they rustle and rock in
the evening wind. I have seen grasses waving
with far more dignity. And when our northern
pines are waving and bowing in sign of worship
with the winter storm-winds, where is the
prince of palms that could have the conscience
to demand their homage!

Members of this palm congregation were of
all sizes with respect to their stems; but their
glorious crowns were all alike. In develop
ment there is only the terminal bud to con-

338

IN FLORIDA SWAMPS AND FORESTS

sider. The young palm of this species emerges
from the ground in full strength, one cluster
of leaves arched every way, making a sphere
about ten or twelve feet in diameter. The out
side lower leaves gradually become yellow,
wither, and break off, the petiole snapping
squarely across, a few inches from the stem.
New leaves develop with wonderful rapidity.
They stand erect at first, but gradually arch
outward as they expand their blades and
lengthen their petioles.

New leaves arise constantly from the center
of the grand bud, while old ones break away
from the outside. The splendid crowns are
thus kept about the same size, perhaps a little
larger than in youth while they are yet on the
ground. As the development of the central
axis goes on, the crown is gradually raised on
a stem of about six to twelve inches in diameter.
This stem is of equal thickness at the top and
at the bottom and when young is roughened
with the broken petioles. But these petiole-
stumps fall off and disappear as they become
old, and the trunk becomes smooth as if turned
in a lathe.

After some hours in this charming forest I
started on the return journey before night,
on account of the difficulties of the swamp and
the brier patch. On leaving the palmettoes and

339

A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

entering the vine-tangled, half-submerged for
est I sought long and carefully, but in vain, for
the trail, for I had drifted about too incautiously
in search of plants. But, recollecting the direc
tion that I had followed in the morning, I took
a compass bearing and started to penetrate the
swamp in a direct line.

Of course I had a sore weary time, pushing
through the tanglement of falling, standing,
and half-fallen trees and bushes, to say noth
ing of knotted vines as remarkable for their
efficient army of interlocking and lancing
prickers as for their length and the number of
their blossoms.

But these were not my greatest obstacles,
nor yet the pools and lagoons full of dead leaves
and alligators. It was the army of cat-briers
that I most dreaded. I knew that I would have
to find the narrow slit of a lane before dark or
spend the night with mosquitoes and alligators,
without food or fire. The entire distance was
not great, but a traveler in open woods can form
no idea of the crooked and strange difficulties
of pathless locomotion in these thorny, watery
Southern tangles, especially in pitch darkness.
I struggled hard and kept my course, leaving
the general direction only when drawn aside
by a plant of extraordinary promise, that I
wanted for a specimen, or when I had to make

340

IN FLORIDA SWAMPS AND FORESTS

the half -circuit of a pile of trees, or of a deep
lagoon or pond.

In wading I never attempted to keep my
clothes dry, because the water was too deep,
and the necessary care would consume too much
time. Had the water that I was forced to wade
been transparent it would have lost much of its
difficulty. But as it was, I constantly expected
to plant my feet on an alligator, and therefore
proceeded with strained caution. The opacity
of the water caused uneasiness also on account
of my inability to determine its depth. In many
places I was compelled to turn back, after wad
ing forty or fifty yards, and to try again a score
of times before I succeeded in getting across a
single lagoon.

At length, after miles of wading and wallow
ing, I arrived at the grand cat-brier encamp
ment which guarded the whole forest in solid
phalanx, unmeasured miles up and down across
my way. Alas! the trail by which I had crossed
in the morning was not to be found, and night
was near. In vain I scrambled back and forth
in search of an opening. There was not even a
strip of dry ground on which to rest. Every
where the long briers arched over to the vines
and bushes of the watery swamp, leaving no
standing-ground between them. I began to
think of building some sort of a scaffold in a

341

A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

tree to rest on through the night, but concluded
to make one more desperate effort to find the
narrow track.

After calm, concentrated recollection of my
course, I made a long exploration toward the
left down the brier line, and after scrambling a
mile or so, perspiring and bleeding, I discovered
the blessed trail and escaped to dry land and the
light. Reached the captain at sundown. Dined
on milk and johnny-cake and fresh venison.
Was congratulated on my singular good fortune
and woodcraft, and soon after supper was sleep
ing the deep sleep of the weary and the safe.

October 22. This morning I was easily pre
vailed upon by the captain and an ex-judge,
who was rusticating here, to join in a deer hunt.
Had a delightful ramble in the long grass and
flowery barrens. Started one deer but did not
draw a single shot. The captain, the judge,
and myself stood at different stations where the
deer was expected to pass, while a brother of the
captain entered the woods to arouse the game
from cover. The one deer that he started took
a direction different from any which this par
ticular old buck had ever been known to take
in times past, and in so doing was cordially

cursed as being the "d dest deer that ever

ran unshot . ' ' To me it appeared as " d dest ' '

work to slaughter God's cattle for sport. " They

342

IN FLORIDA SWAMPS AND FORESTS

were made for us," say these self-approving
preachers; "for our food, our recreation, or
other uses not yet discovered." As truthfully
we might say on behalf of a bear, when he
deals successfully with an unfortunate hunter,
"Men and other bipeds were made for bears,
and thanks be to God for claws and teeth so
long."

Let a Christian hunter go to the Lord's
woods and kill his well-kept beasts, or wild In
dians, and it is well; but let an enterprising
specimen of these proper, predestined victims
go to houses and fields and kill the most worth
less person of the vertical godlike killers, —
oh! that is horribly unorthodox, and on the
part of the Indians atrocious murder! Well,
I have precious little sympathy for the selfish
propriety of civilized man, and if a war of races
should occur between the wild beasts and Lord
Man I would be tempted to sympathize with
the bears.

CHAPTER VI

CEDAR KEYS

October$3. To-day I reached the sea. While
I v/as yet many miles back in the palmy woods,
I caught the scent of the salt sea breeze which,
although I had so many years lived far from
sea breezes, suddenly conjured up Dunbar, its
rocky coast, winds and waves; and my whole
childhood, that seemed to have utterly van
ished in the New World, was now restored amid
the Florida woods by that one breath from the
sea. Forgotten were the palms and magnolias
and the thousand flowers that enclosed me. I
could see only dulse and tangle, long-winged
gulls, the Bass Rock in the Firth of Forth, and
the old castle, schools, churches, and long coun
try rambles in search of birds' nests. I do not
wonder that the weary camels coming from
the scorching African deserts should be able to
scent the Nile.

How imperishable are all the impressions
that ever vibrate one's life! We cannot forget
anything. Memories may escape the action of
will, may sleep a long time, but when stirred
by the right influence, though that influence be

344

CEDAR KEYS

light as a shadow, they flash into full stature
and life with everything in place. For nineteen
years my vision was bounded by forests, but
to-day, emerging from a multitude of tropical
plants, I beheld the Gulf of Mexico stretching
away unbounded, except by the sky. What
dreams and speculative matter for thought
arose as I stood on the strand, gazing out on
the burnished, treeless plain!

But now at the seaside I was in difficulty. I
had reached a point that I could not ford, and
Cedar Keys had an empty harbor. Would I pro
ceed down the peninsula to Tampa and Key
West, where I would be sure to find a vessel
for Cuba, or would I wait here, like Crusoe,
and pray for a ship. Full of these thoughts, I
stepped into a little store which had a con
siderable trade in quinine and alligator and
rattlesnake skins, and inquired about shipping,
means of travel, etc.

The proprietor informed me that one of sev
eral sawmills near the village was running, and
that a schooner chartered to carry a load of
lumber to Galveston, Texas, was expected at
the mills for a load. This mill was situated on
a tongue of land a few miles along the coast
from Cedar Keys, and I determined to see Mr.
Hodgson, the owner, to find out particulars
about the expected schooner, the time she

345

A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

would take to load, whether I would be likely to
obtain passage on her, etc.

Found Mr. Hodgson at his mill. Stated my
case, and was kindly furnished the desired in
formation. I determined to wait the two weeks
likely to elapse before she sailed, and go on her
to the flowery plains of Texas, from any of
whose ports, I fancied, I could easily find pas
sage to the West Indies. I agreed to work for
Mr. Hodgson in the mill until I sailed, as I had
but little money. He invited me to his spacious
house, which occupied a shell hillock and com
manded a fine view of the Gulf and many gems
of palmy islets, called "keys," that fringe the
shore like huge bouquets — not too big, how
ever, for the spacious waters. Mr. Hodgson's
family welcomed me with that open, uncon
strained cordiality which is characteristic of the
better class of Southern people.

At the sawmill a new cover had been put on
the main driving pulley, which, made of rough
plank, had to be turned off and smoothed.
He asked me if I was able to do this job and I
told him that I could. Fixing a rest and mak
ing a tool out of an old file, I directed the engi
neer to start the engine and run slow. After
turning down the pulley and getting it true,
I put a keen edge on a common carpenter's
plane, quickly finished the job, and was as-
346

CEDAR KEYS

signed a bunk in one of the employees' lodging-
houses.

The next day I felt a strange dullness and
headache while I was botanizing along the
coast. Thinking that a bath in the salt water
might refresh me, I plunged in and swam a
little distance, but this seemed only to make
me feel worse. I felt anxious for something
sour, and walked back to the village to buy
lemons.

Thus and here my long walk was interrupted.
I thought that a few days' sail would land me
among the famous flower-beds of Texas. But
the expected ship came and went while I was
helpless with fever. The very day after reach
ing the sea I began to be weighed down by in
exorable leaden numbness, which I resisted and
tried to shake off for three days, by bathing in
the Gulf, by dragging myself about among the
palms, plants, and strange shells of the shore,
and by doing a little mill work. I did not fear
any serious illness, for I never was sick before,
and was unwilling to pay attention to my
feelings.

But yet heavier and more remorselessly
pressed the growing fever, rapidly gaining on
my strength. On the third day after my arrival
I could not take any nourishment, but craved
acid. Cedar Keys was only a mile or two dis-

347

A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

tant, and I managed to walk there to buy
lemons. On returning, about the middle of the
afternoon, the fever broke on me like a storm,
and before I had staggered halfway to the mill
I fell down unconscious on the narrow trail
among dwarf palmettoes.

When I awoke from the hot fever sleep, the
stars were shining, and I was at a loss to know
which end of the trail to take, but fortunately,
as it afterwards proved, I guessed right. Sub
sequently, as I fell again and again after walk
ing only a hundred yards or so, I was careful
to lie with my head in the direction in which
I thought the mill was. I rose, staggered, and
fell, I know not how many times, in delirious
bewilderment, gasping and throbbing with only
moments of consciousness. Thus passed the
hours till after midnight, when I reached the
mill lodging-house.

The watchman on his rounds found me lying
on a heap of sawdust at the foot of the stairs.
I asked him to assist me up the steps to bed,
but he thought my difficulty was only intoxica
tion and refused to help me. The mill hands,
especially on Saturday nights, often returned
from the village drunk. This was the cause of
the watchman's refusal. Feeling that I must
get to bed, I made out to reach it on hands and
knees, tumbled in after a desperate struggle,

348

CEDAR KEYS

and immediately became oblivious to every
thing.

I awoke at a strange hour on a strange day
to hear Mr. Hodgson ask a watcher beside
me whether I had yet spoken, and when he
replied that I had not, he said: "Well, you must
keep on pouring in quinine. That 's all we can
do." How long I lay unconscious I never
found out, but it must have been many days.
Some time or other I was moved on a horse
from the mill quarters to Mr. Hodgson's house,
where I was nursed about three months with
unfailing kindness, and to the skill and care of
Mr. and Mrs. Hodgson I doubtless owe my
life. Through quinine and calomel — in sorry
abundance — with other milder medicines, my
malarial fever became typhoid. I had night
sweats, and my legs became like posts of the
temper and consistence of clay on account of
dropsy. So on until January, a weary time.

As soon as I was able to get out of bed, I crept
away to the edge of the wood, and sat day after
day beneath a moss-draped live-oak, watching
birds feeding on the shore when the tide was
out. Later, as I gathered some strength, I
sailed in a little skiff from one key to another.
Nearly all the shrubs and trees here are ever
green, and a few of the smaller plants are in
flower all winter. The principal trees on this

349

A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

Cedar Key are the juniper, long-leafed pine,
and live-oak. All of the latter, living and dead,
are heavily draped with tillandsia, like those
of Bonaventure. The leaf is oval, about two
inches long, three fourths of an inch wide,
glossy and dark green above, pale beneath.
The trunk is usually much divided, and is ex
tremely unwedgeable. The specimen on the
opposite page1 is growing hi the dooryard of
Mr. Hodgson's house. It is a grand old king,
whose crown gleamed hi the bright sky long
ere the Spanish shipbuilders felled a single tree
of this noble species.

The live-oaks of these keys divide empire
with the long-leafed pine and palmetto, but in
many places on the mainland there are large
tracts exclusively occupied by them. Like the
Bonaventure oaks they have the upper side of
their main spreading branches thickly planted
with ferns, grasses, small saw palmettoes, etc.
There is also a dwarf oak here, which forms
dense thickets. The oaks of this key are
not, like those of the Wisconsin openings,
growing on grassy slopes, but stand, sunk to
the shoulders, in flowering magnolias, heath-
worts, etc.

During my long sojourn here as a convales
cent I used to lie on my back for whole days

1 Of the original journal.
350

CEDAR KEYS

beneath the ample arms of these great trees,
listening to the winds and the birds. There
is an extensive shallow on the coast, close by,
which the receding tide exposes daily. This
is the feeding-ground of thousands of waders
of all sizes, plumage, and language, and they
make a lively picture and noise when they
gather at the great family board to eat their
daily bread, so bountifully provided for them.

Their leisure in time of high tide they spend
in various ways and places. Some go in large
flocks to reedy margins about the islands and
wade and stand about quarreling or making
sport, occasionally finding a stray mouthful to
eat. Some stand on the mangroves of the soli
tary shore, now and then plunging into the
water after a fish. Some go long journeys in
land, up creeks and inlets. A few lonely old
herons of solemn look and wing retire to fa
vorite oaks. It was my delight to watch those
old white sages of immaculate feather as they
stood erect drowsing away the dull hours be
tween tides, curtained by long skeins of til-
landsia. White-bearded hermits gazing dream
ily from dark caves could not appear more
solemn or more becomingly shrouded from the
rest of their fellow beings.

One of the characteristic plants of these keys
is the Spanish bayonet, a species of yucca,

351

A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

about eight or ten feet in height, and with a
trunk three or four inches hi diameter when
full grown. It belongs to the lily family and
develops palmlike from terminal buds. The
stout leaves are very rigid, sharp-pointed and
bayonet-like. By one of these leaves a man
might be as seriously stabbed as by an army
bayonet, and woe to the luckless wanderer who
dares to urge his way through these armed
gardens after dark. Vegetable cats of many
species will rob him of his clothes and claw
his flesh, while dwarf palmettoes will saw his
bones, and the bayonets will glide to his joints
and marrow without the smallest c6nsideration
for Lord Man.

The climate of these precious islets is simply
warm summer and warmer summer, corre
sponding in time with winter and summer in
the North. The weather goes smoothly over
the points of union betwixt the twin summers.
Few of the storms are very loud or variable.
The average temperature during the day, in
December, was about sixty-five degrees in the
shade, but on one day a little damp snow fell.

Cedar Keys is two and one half or three miles
in diameter and its highest point is forty-four
feet above mean tide-water. It is surrounded
by scores of other keys, many of them looking
like a clump of palms, arranged like a tasteful

352

CEDAR KEYS

bouquet, and placed in the sea to be kept fresh.
Others have quite a sprinkling of oaks and
junipers, beautifully united with vines. Still
others consist of shells, with a few grasses and
mangroves, circled with a rim of rushes. Those
which have sedgy margins furnish a favorite
retreat for countless waders and divers, espe
cially for the pelicans that frequently whiten
the shore like a ring of foam.

It is delightful to observe the assembling of
these feathered people from the woods and
reedy isles : herons white as wave-tops, or blue
as the sky, winnowing the warm air on wide
quiet wings; pelicans coming with baskets to
fill, and the multitude of smaller sailors of the
air, swift as swallows, gracefully taking then-
places at Nature's family table for their daily
bread. Happy birds!

The mockingbird is graceful in form and a
fine singer, plainly dressed, rather familiar in
habits, frequently coming like robins to door-
sills for crumbs — a noble fellow, beloved by
everybody. Wild geese are abundant in winter,
associated with brant, some species of which
I have never seen in the North. Also great
flocks of robins, mourning doves, bluebirds,
and the delightful brown thrashers. A large
number of the smaller birds are fine singers.
Crows, too, are here, some of them cawing with

353

A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

a foreign accent. The common bob-white quail
I observed as far south as middle Georgia.

Lime Key, sketched on the opposite page, is
a fair specimen of the Florida keys on this part
of the coast. A fragment of cactus, Opuntia,
sketched on another page,1 is from the above-
named key, and is abundant there. The fruit,
an inch in length, is gathered, and made into
a sauce, of which some people are fond. This
species forms thorny, impenetrable thickets.
One joint that I measured was fifteen inches
long.

The mainland to Florida is less salubrious
than the islands, but no portion of this coast,
nor of the flat border which sweeps from Mary
land to Texas, is quite free from malaria. All
the inhabitants of this region, whether black or
white, are liable to be prostrated by the ever-
present fever and ague, to say nothing of the
plagues of cholera and yellow fever that come
and go suddenly like storms, prostrating the
population and cutting gaps in it like hurri
canes in woods.

The world, we are told, was made especially
for man — a presumption not supported by all
the facts. A numerous class of men are pain
fully astonished whenever they find anything,
living or dead, in all God's universe, which they

1 Of the original journal.
354

CEDAR KEYS

cannot eat or render in some way what they
call useful to themselves. They have precise
dogmatic insight of the intentions of the Cre
ator, and it is hardly possible to be guilty of
irreverence in speaking of their God any more
than of heathen idols. He is regarded as a
civilized, law-abiding gentleman in favor either
of a republican form of government or of a
limited monarchy; believes in the literature
and language of England; is a warm supporter
of the English constitution and Sunday schools
and missionary societies; and is as purely a
manufactured article as any puppet of a half
penny theater.

With such views of the Creator it is, of course,
not surprising that erroneous views should be
entertained of the creation. To such properly
trimmed people, the sheep, for example, is an
easy problem — food and clothing "for us," eat
ing grass and daisies white by divine appoint
ment for this predestined purpose, on perceiving
the demand for wool that would be occasioned
by the eating of the apple in the Garden of
Eden.

In the same pleasant plan, whales are store
houses of oil for us, to help out the stars in light
ing our dark ways until the discovery of the
Pennsylvania oil wells. Among plants, hemp,
to say nothing of the cereals, is a case of evident

355

A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

destination for ships' rigging, wrapping pack
ages, and hanging the wicked. Cotton is an
other plain case of clothing. Iron was made
for hammers and ploughs, and lead for bullets;
all intended for us. And so of other small hand-
fuls of insignificant things.

But if we should ask these profound ex
positors of God's intentions, How about those
man-eating animals — lions, tigers, alligators
— which smack their lips over raw man? Or
about those myriads of noxious insects that
destroy labor and drink his blood? Doubtless
man was intended for food and drink for all
these? Oh, no! Not at all! These are unresolv-
able difficulties connected with Eden's apple
and the Devil. Why does water drown its
lord? Why do so many minerals poison him?
Why are so many plants and fishes deadly
enemies? WTiy is the lord of creation sub
jected to the same laws of life as his subjects?
Oh, all these things are satanic, or in some
way connected with the first garden.

Now, it never seems to occur to these far-
seeing teachers that Nature's object in making
animals and plants might possibly be first of
all the happiness of each one of them, not the
creation of all for the happiness of one. Why
should man value himself as more than a small
part of the one great unit of creation? And

356

CEDAR KEYS

what creature of all that the Lord has taken
the pains to make is not essential to the com
pleteness of that unit — the cosmos? The uni
verse would be incomplete without man; but
it would also be incomplete without the small
est transmicroscopic creature that dwells be
yond our conceitful eyes and knowledge.

From the dust of the earth, from the common
elementary fund, the Creator has made Homo
sapiens. From the same material he has made
every other creature, however noxious and in
significant to us. They are earthborn com
panions and our fellow mortals. The fearfully
good, the orthodox, of this laborious patch
work of modern civilization cry " Heresy" on
every one whose sympathies reach a single
hair's breadth beyond the boundary epidermis
of our own species. Not content with taking
all of earth, they also claim the celestial coun
try as the only ones who possess the kind of
souls for which that imponderable empire was
planned.

This star, our own good earth, made many
a successful journey around the heavens ere
man was made, and whole kingdoms of crea
tures enjoyed existence and returned to dust
ere man appeared to claim them. After human
beings have also played their part in Creation's
plan, they too may disappear without any

357

A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

general burning or extraordinary commotion
whatever.

Plants are credited with but dim and uncer
tain sensation, and minerals with positively
none at all. But why may not even a mineral
arrangement of matter be endowed with sensa
tion of a kind that we in our blind exclusive
perfection can have no manner of communica
tion with ?

But I have wandered from my object. I
stated a page or two back that man claimed
the earth was made for him, and I was going
to say that venomous beasts, thorny plants,
and deadly diseases of certain parts of the earth
prove that the whole world was not made for
him. "When an animal from a tropical climate
is taken to high latitudes, it may perish of cold,
and we say that such an animal was never in
tended for so severe a climate. But when man
betakes himself to sickly parts of the tropics
and perishes, he cannot see that he was never
intended for such deadly climates. No, he will
rather accuse the first mother of the cause of the
difficulty, though she may never have seen a
fever district; or will consider it a providential
chastisement for some self-invented form of
sin.

Furthermore, all uneatable and uncivilized
animals, and all plants which carry prickles,

358

CEDAR KEYS

are deplorable evils which, according to closest
researches of clergy, require the cleansing chem
istry of universal planetary combustion. But
more than aught else mankind requires burn
ing, as being in great part wicked, and if that
transmundane furnace can be so applied and
regulated as to smelt and purify us into con
formity with the rest of the terrestrial creation,
then the tophetization of the erratic genus
Homo were a consummation devoutly to be
prayed for. But, glad to leave these ecclesias
tical fires and blunders, I joyfully return to
the immortal truth and immortal beauty of
Nature.

CHAPTER VII

A SOJOUKN IN CUBA

ONE day in January I climbed to the house
top to get a view of another of the fine sun
sets of this land of flowers. The landscape was a
strip of clear Gulf water, a strip of sylvan coast,
a tranquil company of shell and coral keys,
and a gloriously colored sky without a threaten
ing cloud. All the winds were hushed and the
calm of the heavens was as profound as that of
the palmy islands and their encircling waters.
As I gazed from one to another of the palm-
crowned keys, enclosed by the sunset-colored
dome, my eyes chanced to rest upon the flutter
ing sails of a Yankee schooner that was thread
ing the tortuous channel hi the coral reef lead
ing to the harbor of Cedar Keys. "There,"
thought I, "perhaps I may sail in that pretty
white moth." She proved to be the schooner
Island Belle.

One day soon after her arrival I went over
the key to the harbor, for I was now strong
enough to walk. Some of her crew were ashore
after water. I waited until their casks were
filled, and went with them to the vessel in their
boat. Ascertained that she was ready to sail

360

A SOJOURN IN CUBA

with her cargo of lumber for Cuba. I engaged
passage on her for twenty-five dollars, and
asked her sharp- visaged captain when he would
sail. "Just as soon," said he, "as we get a
north wind. We have had northers enough
when we did not want them, and now we have
this dying breath from the south."

Hurrying back to the house, I gathered my
plants, took leave of my kind friends, and
went aboard, and soon, as if to calm the cap
tain's complaints, Boreas came foaming loud
and strong. The little craft was quickly
trimmed and snugged, her inviting sails spread
open, and away she dashed to her ocean home
like an exulting war-horse to the battle. Islet
after islet speedily grew dim and sank beneath
the horizon. Deeper became the blue of the
water, and in a few hours all of Florida van
ished.

This excursion on the sea, the first one after
twenty years in the woods, was of course ex
ceedingly interesting, and I was full of hope,
glad to be once more on my journey to the
South. Boreas increased in power and the
Island Belle appeared to glory in her speed
and managed her full-spread wings as grace
fully as a sea-bird. In less than a day our
norther increased in strength to the storm point.
Deeper and wider became the valleys, and yet
361

A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

higher the hills of the round plain of water.
The flying jib and gaff topsails were lowered
and mainsails close-reefed, and our deck was
white with broken wave-tops.

"You had better go below," said the cap
tain. "The Gulf Stream, opposed by this wind,
is raising a heavy sea and you will be sick. No
landsman can stand this long." I replied that
I hoped the storm would be as violent as his
ship could bear, that I enjoyed the scenery of
such a sea so much that it was impossible to be
sick, that I had long waited in the woods for
just such a storm, and that, now that the pre
cious thing had come, I would remain on deck
and enjoy it. "Well," said he, "if you can stand
this, you are the first landsman I ever saw that
could."

I remained on deck, holding on by a rope
to keep from being washed overboard, and
watched the behavior of the Belle as she dared
nobly on; but my attention was mostly directed
among the glorious fields of foam-topped waves.
The wind had a mysterious voice and carried
nothing now of the songs of birds or of the rus
tling of palms and fragrant vines. Its burden
was gathered from a stormy expanse of crested
waves and briny tangles. I could see no striving
in those magnificent wave-motions, no raging;
all the storm was apparently inspired with na-

362

A SOJOURN IN CUBA

ture's beauty and harmony. Every wave was
obedient and harmonious as the smoothest
ripple of a forest lake, and after dark all the
water was phosphorescent like silver fire, a
glorious sight.

Our luminous storm was all too short for me.
Cuba's rock-waves loomed above the white
waters early in the morning. The sailors, accus
tomed to detect the faintest land line, pointed
out well-known guiding harbor-marks back of
the Morro Castle long before I could see them
through the flying spray. We sailed landward
for several hours, the misty shore becoming
gradually more earthlike. A flock of white-
plumaged ships were departing from the Ha
vana harbor, or, like us, seeking to enter it.
No sooner had our little schooner flapped her
sails in the lee of the Castle than she was
boarded by a swarm of daintily dressed officials
who were good-naturedly and good-gesturedly
making all sorts of in.quiries, while our busy
captain, paying little attention to them, was
giving orders to his crew.

The neck of the harbor is narrow and it is
seldom possible to sail in to appointed anchor
age without the aid of a steam tug. Our cap
tain wished to save his money, but after much
profitless tacking was compelled to take the
proffered aid of steam, when we soon reached

363

A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

our quiet mid-harbor quarters and dropped
anchor among ships of every size from every
sea.

I was still four or five hundred yards from
land and could determine no plant in sight
excepting the long-arched leaf banners of the
banana and the palm, which made a brave
show on the Morro Hill. When we were ap
proaching the land I observed that in some
places it was distinctly yellow, and I wondered
while we were yet some miles distant whether
the color belonged to the ground or to sheets of
flowers. From our harbor home I could now
see that the color was plant-gold. On one side
of the harbor was a city of these yellow plants;
on the other, a city of yellow stucco houses,
narrowly and confusedly congregated.

"Do you want to go ashore?" said the cap
tain to me. "Yes," I replied, "but I wish to go
to the plant side of the harbor." "Oh, well,"
he said, "come with me now. There are some
fine squares and gardens in the city, full of all
sorts of trees and flowers. Enjoy these to-day,
and some other day we will all go over the
Morro Hill with you and gather shells. All
kinds of shells are over there; but these yellow
slopes that you see are covered only with
weeds."

We jumped into the boat and a couple of

364

A SOJOURN IN CUBA

sailors pulled us to the thronged, noisy wharf.
It was Sunday afternoon,1 the noisiest day of
a Havana week. Cathedral bells and prayers
in the forenoon, theaters and bull-fight bells
and bellowings in the afternoon! Lowly whis
pered prayers to the saints and the Virgin, fol
lowed by shouts of praise or reproach to bulls
and matadors! I made free with fine oranges
and bananas and many other fruits. Pineapple
I had never seen before. Wandered about the
narrow streets, stunned with the babel of
strange sounds and sights; went gazing, also,
among the gorgeously flowered garden squares,
and then waited among some boxed merchan
dise until our captain, detained by business,
arrived. Was glad to escape to our little
schooner Belle again, weary and heavy-laden
with excitement and tempting fruits.

As night came on, a thousand lights starred
the great town. I was now in one of my happy
dreamlands, the fairest of West India islands.
But how, I wondered, shall I be able to escape
from this great city confusion? How shall I
reach nature in this delectable land? Consult
ing my map, I longed to climb the central moun
tain range of the island and trace it through
all its forests and valleys and over its summit
peaks, a distance of seven or eight hundred

1 Doubtless January 12, 1868.
365

A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

miles. But alas! though out of Florida swamps,
fever was yet weighing me down, and a mile
of city walking was quite exhausting. The
weather too was oppressively warm and sultry.

January 16. During the few days since our
arrival the sun usually has risen unclouded,
pouring down pure gold, rich and dense, for
one or two hours. Then island-like masses of
white-edged cumuli suddenly appeared, grew
to storm size, and in a few minutes discharged
rain in tepid plashing bucketfuls, accompanied
with high wind. This was followed by a short
space of calm, half-cloudy sky, delightfully
fragrant with flowers, and again the air would
become hot, thick, and sultry.

This weather, as may readily be perceived,
was severe to one so weak and feverish, and
after a dozen trials of strength over the Morro
Hill and along the coast northward for shells
and flowers, I was sadly compelled to see that
no enthusiasm could enable me to walk to the
interior. So I was obliged to limit my re
searches to within ten or twelve miles of Ha
vana. Captain Parsons offered his ship as my
headquarters, and my weakness prevented me
from spending a single night ashore.

The daily programme for nearly all the
month that I spent here was about as follows:
After breakfast a sailor rowed me ashore on the

366

A SOJOURN IN CUBA

north side of the harbor. A few minutes' walk
took me past the Morro Castle and out of sight
of the town on a broad cactus common, about
as solitary and untrodden as the tangles of
Florida. Here I zigzagged and gathered prizes
among unnumbered plants and shells along the
shore, stopping to press the plant specimens and
to rest in the shade of vine-heaps and bushes
until sundown. The happy hours stole away
until I had to return to the schooner. Either
I was seen by the sailors who usually came for
me, or I hired a boat to take me back. Ar
rived, I reached up my press and a big handful
of flowers, and with a little help climbed up the
side of my floating home.

Refreshed with supper and rest, I recounted
my adventures in the vine tangles, cactus
thickets, sunflower swamps, and along the
shore among the breakers. My flower speci
mens, also, and pocketfuls of shells and corals
had to be reviewed. Next followed a cool,
dreamy hour on deck amid the lights of the
town and the various vessels coming and de
parting.

Many strange sounds were heard: the vo
ciferous, unsmotherable bells, the heavy thun
dering of cannon from the Castle, and the
shouts of the sentinels in measured time. Com
bined they made the most incessant sharp-
367

A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

angled mass of noise that I ever was doomed
to hear. Nine or ten o'clock found me in a
small bunk with the harbor wavelets tinkling
outside close to my ear. The hours of sleep
were filled with dreams of heavy heat, of fruit
less efforts for the disentanglement of vines,
or of running from curling breakers back to
the Morro, etc. Thus my days and nights
went on.

Occasionally I was persuaded by the captain
to go ashore in the evening on his side of the
harbor, accompanied perhaps by two or three
other captains. After landing and telling the
sailors when to call for us, we hired a carriage
and drove to the upper end of the city, to a fine
public square adorned with shady walks and
magnificent plants. A brass band in imposing
uniform played the characteristic lance-noted
martial airs of the Spanish. Evening is the
fashionable hour for aristocratic drives about
the streets and squares, the only time that is
delightfully cool. I never saw elsewhere people
so neatly and becomingly dressed. The proud
best-family Cubans may fairly be called beau
tiful, are under- rather than over-sized, with
features exquisitely moulded, and set off with
silks and broadcloth in excellent taste. Strange
that their amusements should be so coarse.
Bull-fighting, brain-splitting bell-ringing, and
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A SOJOURN IN CUBA

the most piercing artificial music appeal to
their taste.

The ranis and wealth of Havana nobility,
when out driving, seems to be indicated by the
distance of their horses from the body of the
carriage. The higher the rank, the longer the
shafts of the carriage, and the clumsier and
more ponderous are the wheels, which are not
unlike those of a cannon-cart. A few of these
carriages have shafts twenty-five feet in length,
and the brilliant-liveried negro driver on the
lead horse, twenty or thirty feet in advance
of the horse in the shafts, is beyond calling
distance of his master.

Havana abounds in public squares, which in
all my random strolls throughout the big town
I found to be well-watered, well-cared-for, well-
planted, and full of exceedingly showy and in
teresting plants, rare even amid the exhaustless
luxuriance of Cuba. These squares also con
tained fine marble statuary and were furnished
with seats in the shadiest places. Many of the
walks were paved instead of graveled.

The streets of Havana are crooked, labyrin-
thic, and exceedingly narrow. The sidewalks
are only about a foot wide. A traveler experi
ences delightful relief when, heated and wearied
by raids through the breadth of the dingy yel
low town, dodging a way through crowds of men

369

A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

and mules and lumbering carts and carriages,
he at length finds shelter in the spacious, dust-
less, cool, flowery squares; still more when,
emerging from all the din and darkness of these
lanelike streets, he suddenly finds himself out
in the middle of the harbor, inhaling full-
drawn breaths of the sea breezes.

The interior of the better houses which came
under my observation struck me with the pro
fusion of dumpy, ill-proportioned pillars at the
entrances and in the halls, and with the spa
cious open-fielded appearance of their enclosed
square house-gardens or courts. Cubans in gen
eral appear to me superfinely polished, polite,
and agreeable in society, but in their treat
ment of animals they are cruel. I saw more
downright brutal cruelty to mules and horses,
during the few weeks I stayed there, than in
my whole life elsewhere. Live chickens and
hogs are tied in bunches by the legs and car
ried to market thus, slung on a mule. In their
general treatment of all sorts of animals they
seem to have no thought for them beyond cold
blooded, selfish interest.

In tropical regions it is easy to build towns,
but it is difficult to subdue their armed and
united plant inhabitants, and to clear fields
and make them blossom with breadstuff. The
plant people of temperate regions, feeble, un-
370

A SOJOURN IN CUBA

armed, unallied, disappear under the trampling
feet of flocks, herds, and man, leaving their
homes to enslavable plants which follow the
will of man and furnish him with food. But
the armed and united plants of the tropics hold
their rightful kingdom plantfully, nor, since the
first appearance of Lord Man, have they ever
suffered defeat.

A large number of Cuba's wild plants circle
closely about Havana. In five minutes' walk
from the wharf I could reach the undisturbed
settlements of Nature. The field of the greater
portion of my rambling researches was a strip
of rocky common, silent and unfrequented by
anybody save an occasional beggar at Nature's
door asking a few roots and seeds. This natu
ral strip extended ten miles along the coast
northward, with but few large-sized trees and
bushes, but rich in magnificent vines, cacti,
composites, leguminous plants, grasses, etc.
The wild flowers of this seaside field are a
happy band, closely joined in splendid array.
The trees shine with blossoms and with light
reflected from the leaves. The individuality of
the vines is lost in trackless, interlacing, twist
ing, overheaping union.

Our American " South" is rich in flowery
vines. In some districts almost every tree is
crowned with them, aiding each other in grace
371

A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

and beauty. Indiana, Kentucky, and Tennes
see have the grapevine in predominant num
bers and development. Farther south dwell the
greenbriers and countless leguminous vines.
A vine common among the Florida islets, per
haps belonging to the dogbane family, over
runs live-oaks and palmettoes, with frequently
more than a hundred stems twisted into one
cable. Yet in no section of the South are there
such complicated and such gorgeously flowered
vine-tangles as flourish in armed safety in the
hot and humid wild gardens of Cuba.

The longest and the shortest vine that I
found in Cuba were both leguminous. I have
said that the harbor side of the Morro Hill is
clothed with tall yellow-flowered composites
through which it is difficult to pass. But there
are smooth, velvety, lawnlike patches in these
Composite forests. Coming suddenly upon one
of these open places, I stopped to admire its
greenness and smoothness, when I observed
a sprinkling of large papilionaceous blossoms
among the short green grass. The long com
posites that bordered this little lawn were en
twined and almost smothered with vines which
bore similar corollas in tropic abundance.

I at once decided that these sprinkled flow
ers had been blown off the encompassing tan
gles and had been kept fresh by dew and by
372

A SOJOURN IN CUBA

spray from the sea. But, on stooping to pick
one of them up, I was surprised to find that it
was attached to Mother Earth by a short, pros
trate, slender hair of a vine stem, bearing, be
sides the one large blossom, a pair or two of
linear leaves. The flower weighed more than
stem, root, and leaves combined. Thus, in a
land of creeping and twining giants, we find
also this charming, diminutive simplicity —
the vine reduced to its lowest terms.

The longest vine, prostrate and untwined
like its little neighbor, covers patches of sev
eral hundred square yards with its countless
branches and close growth of upright, trifoliate,
smooth green leaves. The flowers are as plain
and unshowy in size and color as those of the
sweet peas of gardens. The seeds are large and
satiny. The whole plant is noble in its motions
and features, covering the ground with a depth
of unconfused leafage which I have never seen
equaled by any other plant. The extent of leaf-
surface is greater, I think, than that of a large
Kentucky oak. It grows, as far as my observa
tion has reached, only upon shores, in a soil
composed of broken shells and corals, and ex
tends exactly to the water-line of the highest-
reaching waves. The same plant is abundant
in Florida.

The cacti form an important part of the plant

373

A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

population of my ramble ground. They are
various as the vines, consisting now of a dimin
utive joint or two hid in the weeds, now rising
into bushy trees, wide-topped, with trunks a
foot in diameter, and with glossy, dark-green
joints that reflect light like the silex- varnished
palms. They are planted for fences, together
with the Spanish bayonet and agave.

In one of my first walks I was laboriously
scrambling among some low rocks gathering
ferns and vines, when I was startled by finding
my face close to a great snake, whose body was
disposed carelessly like a castaway rope among
the weeds and stones. After escaping and com
ing to my senses I discovered that the snake
was a member of the vegetable kingdom,
capable of no dangerous amount of locomo
tion, but possessed of many a fang, and pros
trate as though under the curse of Eden,
"Upon thy belly shalt thou go and dust shalt
thou eat."

One day, after luxuriating in the riches of
my Morro pasture, and pressing many new
specimens, I went down to the bank of brilliant
wave-washed shells to rest awhile in their
beauty, and to watch the breakers that a power
ful norther was heaving in splendid rank along
the coral boundary. I gathered pocketfuls of
shells, mostly small but fine in color and form,

374

A SOJOURN IN CUBA

and bits of rosy coral. Then I amused myself
by noting the varying colors of the waves and
the different forms of their curved and blossom
ing crests. While thus alone and free it was
interesting to learn the richly varied songs,
or what we mortals call the roar, of expiring
breakers. I compared their variation with the
different distances to which the broken wave-
water reached landward in its farthest-flung
foam-wreaths, and endeavored to form some
idea of the one great song sounding forever
all around the white-blooming shores of the
world.

Rising from my shell seat, I watched a wave
leaping from the deep and coming far up the
beveled strand to bloom and die in a mass of
white. Then I followed the spent waters in
their return to the blue deep, wading in their
spangled, decaying fragments until chased back
up the bank by the coming of another wave.
While thus playing half studiously, I discovered
in the rough, beaten deathbed of the wave a
little plant with closed flowers. It was crouch
ing in a hollow of the brown wave-washed rock,
and one by one the chanting, dying waves
rolled over it. The tips of its delicate pink
petals peered above the clasping green calyx.
"Surely," said I, as I stooped over it for a
moment, before the oncoming of another wave,

375

A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

'" surely you cannot be living here! You must
have been blown from some warm bank, and
rolled into this little hollow crack like a dead
shell. " But, running back after every retiring
wave, I found that its roots were wedged into
a shallow wrinkle of the coral rock, and that
this wave-beaten chink was indeed its dwelling-
place.

I had oftentimes admired the adaptation dis
played in the structure of the stately dulse and
other seaweeds, but never thought to find a
high-bred flowering plant dwelling amid waves
in the stormy, roaring domain of the sea. This
little plant has smooth globular leaves, fleshy
and translucent like beads, but green like those
of other land plants. The flower is about five
eighths of an inch in diameter, rose purple,
opening in calm weather, when deserted by the
waves. In general appearance it is like a small
portulaca. The strand, as far as I walked it,
was luxuriantly fringed with woody Composite,
two or three feet in height, their tops purple
and golden with a profusion of flowers. Among
these I discovered a small bush whose yellow
flowers were ideal; all the parts were present
regularly alternate and in fives, and all sepa
rate, a plain harmony.

When a page is written over but once it may
be easily read; but if it be written over and

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A SOJOURN IN CUBA

over with characters of every size and style, it
soon becomes unreadable, although not a single
confused meaningless mark or thought may oc
cur among all the written characters to mar
its perfection. Our limited powers are similarly
perplexed and overtaxed in reading the inex
haustible pages of nature, for they are written
over and over uncountable times, written in
characters of every size and color, sentences
composed of sentences, every part of a char
acter a sentence. There is not a fragment in
all nature, for every relative fragment of one
thing is a full harmonious unit in itself. All
together form the one grand palimpsest of the
world.

One of the most common plants of my pas
ture was the agave. It is sometimes used for
fencing. One day in looking back from the top
of the Morro Hill, as I was returning to the
Island Belle, I chanced to observe two poplar-
like trees about twenty-five feet in height.
They were growing in a dense patch of cactus
and vine-knotted sunflowers. I was anxious to
see anything so homelike as a poplar, and so
made haste towards the two strange trees, mak
ing a way through the cactus and sunflower
jungle that protected them. I was surprised to
find that what I took to be poplars were agaves
in flower, the first I had seen. They were almost
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A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

out of flower, and fast becoming wilted at
the approach of death. Bulbs were scattered
about, and a good many still remained on the
branches, which gave it a fruited appearance.

The stem of the agave seems enormous in size
when one considers that it is the growth of a
few weeks. This plant is said to make a mighty
effort to flower and mature its seeds and then
to die of exhaustion. Now there is not, so far as
I have seen, a mighty effort or the need of one,
in wild Nature. She accomplishes her ends with
out unquiet effort, and perhaps there is nothing
more mighty in the development of the flower-
stem of the agave than in the development of a
grass panicle.

Havana has a fine botanical garden. I spent
pleasant hours in its magnificent flowery ar
bors and around its shady fountains. There
is a palm avenue which is considered wonder
fully stately and beautiful, fifty palms in two
straight lines, each rigidly perpendicular. The
smooth round shafts, slightly thicker in the
middle, appear to be productions of the lathe,
rather than vegetable stems. The fifty arched
crowns, inimitably balanced, blaze in the sun
shine like heaps of stars that have fallen from
the skies. The stems were about sixty or
seventy feet in height, the crowns about fifteen
feet in diameter.

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A SOJOURN IN CUBA

Along a stream-bank were tall, waving bam
boos, leafy as willows, and infinitely graceful in
wind gestures. There was one species of palm,
with immense bipinnate leaves and leaflets
fringed, jagged, and one-sided, like those of
Adiantum. Hundreds of the most gorgeous-
flowered plants, some of them large trees, be
long to the Leguminosce. Compared with what
I have before seen in artificial flower-gardens,
this is past comparison the grandest. It is a
perfect metropolis of the brightest and most
exuberant of garden plants, watered by hand
some fountains, while graveled and finely bor
dered walks slant and curve in all directions,
and in all kinds of fanciful playground styles,
more like the fairy gardens of the Arabian
Nights than any ordinary man-made pleasure-
ground.

In Havana I saw the strongest and the ug
liest negroes that I have met in my whole
walk. The stevedores of the Havana wharf are
muscled in true giant style, enabling them to
tumble and toss ponderous casks and boxes of
sugar weighing hundreds of pounds as if they
were empty. I heard our own brawny sailors,
after watching them at work a few minutes, ex
press unbounded admiration of their strength,
and wish that their hard outbulging muscles
were for sale. The countenances of some of

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A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

the negro orange-selling dames express a de
vout good-natured ugliness that I never could
have conceived any arrangement of flesh and
blood to be capable of. Besides oranges they
sold pineapples, bananas, and lottery tickets.

CHAPTER VIII

BY A CROOKED ROUTE TO CALIFORNIA

AFTER passing a month in this magnificent
island, and finding that my health was not
improving, I made up my mind to push on to
South America while my stock of strength,
such as it was, lasted. But fortunately I could
not find passage for any South American port.
I had long wished to visit the Orinoco basin
and in particular the basin of the Amazon.
My plan was to get ashore anywhere on the
north end of the continent, push on southward
through the wilderness around the headwaters
of the Orinoco, until I reached a tributary of
the Amazon, and float down on a raft or skiff
the whole length of the great river to its mouth.
It seems strange that such a trip should ever
have entered the dreams of any person, how
ever enthusiastic and full of youthful daring,
particularly under the disadvantages of poor
health, of funds less than a hundred dollars,
and of the insalubrity of the Amazon Valley.

Fortunately, as I said, after visiting all the
shipping agencies, I could not find a vessel of
any sort bound for South America, and so made
up a plan to go North, to the longed-for cold

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A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

weather of New York, and thence to the forests
and mountains of California. There, I thought,
I shall find health and new plants and moun
tains, and after a year spent in that interesting
country I can carry out my Amazon plans.

It seemed hard to leave Cuba thus unseen
and unwalked, but illness forbade my stay and
I had to comfort myself with the hope of return
ing to its waiting treasures in full health. In
the mean time I prepared for immediate de
parture. When I was resting in one of the Ha
vana gardens, I noticed in a New York paper
an advertisement of cheap fares to California.
I consulted Captain Parsons concerning a pas
sage to New York, where I could find a ship for
California. At this time none of the California
ships touched at Cuba.

"Well," said he,* pointing toward the middle
of the harbor, " there is a trim little schooner
loaded with oranges for New York, and these
little fruiters are fast sailers. You had better
see her captain about a passage, for she must
be about ready to sail." So I jumped into the
dinghy and a sailor rowed me over to the fruiter.
Going aboard, I inquired for the captain, who
soon appeared on deck and readily agreed to
carry me to New York for twenty-five dollars.
Inquiring when he would sail, " To-morrow
morning at daylight," he replied, "if this

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CROOKED ROUTE TO CALIFORNIA

norther slacks a little; but my papers are made
out, and you will have to see the American
consul to get permission to leave on my ship."

I immediately went to the city, but was un
able to find the consul, whereupon I deter
mined to sail for New York without any formal
leave. Early next .morning, after leaving the
Island Belle and bidding Captain Parsons
good-bye, I was rowed to the fruiter and got
aboard. Notwithstanding the north wind was
still as boisterous as ever, our Dutch captain
was resolved to face it, confident in the strength
of his all-oak little schooner.

Vessels leaving the harbor are stopped at the
Morro Castle to have their clearance papers
examined; in particular, to see that no runa
way slaves were being carried away. The offi
cials came alongside our little ship, but did not
come aboard. They were satisfied by a glance
at the consul's clearance paper, and with the
declaration of the captain, when asked whether

he had any negroes, that he had "not a d d

one." "All right, then," shouted the officials,
"farewell! A pleasant voyage to you!" As my
name was not on the ship's papers, I stayed
below, out of sight, until I felt the heaving of
the waves and knew that we were fairly out on
the open sea. The Castle towers, the hills, the
palms, and the wave-white strand, all faded in
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A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

the distance, and our mimic sea-bird was
at home in the open stormy gulf, curtsying
to every wave and facing bravely to the
wind.

Two thousand years ago our Saviour told
Nicodemus that he did not know where the
winds came from, nor where they were going.
And now in this Golden Age, though we Gen
tiles know the birthplace of many a wind and
also " whither it is going/' yet we know about
as little of winds in general as those Palestinian
Jews, and our ignorance, despite the powers of
science, can never be much less profound than
it is at present.

The substance of the winds is too thin for
human eyes, their written language is too diffi
cult for human minds, and their spoken lan
guage mostly too faint for human ears. A mech
anism is said to have been invented whereby
the human organs of speech are made to write
their own utterances. But without any extra
mechanical contrivance, every speaker also
writes as he speaks. All things in the creation
of God register their own acts. The poet was
mistaken when he said, "From the wing no scar
the sky sustains." His eyes were simply too
dim to see the scar. In sailing past Cuba I
could see a fringe of foam along the coast, but
could hear no sound of waves, simply because

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my ears could not hear wave-dashing at that
distance. Yet every bit of spray was sounding
in my ears.

The subject brings to mind a few recollec
tions of the winds I heard in my late journey.
In my walk from Indiana to the Gulf, earth
and sky, plants and people, and all things
changeable were constantly changing. Even
in Kentucky nature and art have many a char
acteristic shibboleth. The people differ in
language and in customs. Their architecture
is generically different from that of their im
mediate neighbors on the north, not only in
planters' mansions, but in barns and granaries
and the cabins of the poor. But thousands
of familiar flower faces looked from every hill
and valley. I noted no difference in the sky, and
the winds spoke the same things. I did not
feel myself in a strange land.

In Tennessee my eyes rested upon the first
mountain scenery I ever beheld. I was rising
higher than ever before; strange trees were be
ginning to appear; alpine flowers and shrubs
were meeting me at every step. But these
Cumberland Mountains were timbered with
oak, and were not unlike Wisconsin hills piled
upon each other, and the strange plants were
like those that were not strange. The sky was
changed only a little, and the winds not by a
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A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

single detectible note. Therefore, neither was
Tennessee a strange land.

But soon came changes thick and fast. Af
ter passing the mountainous corner of North
Carolina and a little way into Georgia, I beheld
from one of the last ridge-summits of the Alle-
ghanies that vast, smooth, sandy slope that
reaches from the mountains to the sea. It is
wooded with dark, branchy pines which were
all strangers to me. Here the grasses, which
are an earth-covering at the North, grow wide
apart in tall clumps and tufts like saplings.
My known flower companions were leaving me
now, not one by one as in Kentucky and Ten
nessee, but in whole tribes and genera, and com
panies of shining strangers came trooping upon
me in countless ranks. The sky, too, was
changed, and I could detect strange sounds in
the winds. Now I began to feel myself "a
stranger in a strange land."

But in Florida came the greatest change of
all, for here grows the palmetto, and here blow
the winds so strangely toned by them. These
palms and these winds severed the last strands
of the cord that united me with home. Now I
was a stranger, indeed. I was delighted, aston
ished, confounded, and gazed in wonderment
blank and overwhelming as if I had fallen upon
another star. But in all of this long, complex

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series of changes, one of the greatest, and the
last of all, was the change I found in the tone
and language of the winds. They no longer
came with the old home music gathered from
open prairies and waving fields of oak, but
they passed over many a strange string. The
leaves of magnolia, smooth like polished steel,
the immense inverted forests of tillandsia
banks, and the princely crowns of palms —
upon these the winds made strange music,
and at the coming-on of night had overwhelm
ing power to present the distance from friends
and home, and the completeness of my isola
tion from all things familiar.

Elsewhere I have already noted that when I
was a day's journey from the Gulf, a wind blew
upon me from the sea — the first sea breeze
that had touched me in twenty years. I was
plodding along with my satchel and plants,
leaning wearily forward, a little sore from ap
proaching fever, when suddenly I felt the salt
air, and before I had time to think, a whole
flood of long-dormant associations rolled in
upon me. The Firth of Forth, the Bass Rock,
Dunbar Castle, and the winds and rocks and
hills came upon the wings of that wind, and
stood out in as clear and sudden light as a
landscape flashed upon the view by a blaze of
lightning in a dark night.
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A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

I like to cling to a small chip of a ship like
ours when the sea is rough, and long, comet-
tailed streamers are blowing from the curled
top of every wave. A big vessel responds awk
wardly with mixed gestures to several waves
at once, lumbering along like a loose floating
island. But our little schooner, buoyant as a
gull, glides up one side and down the other of
each wave hill in delightful rhythm. As we
advanced the scenery increased in grandeur
and beauty. The waves heaved higher and
grew wider, with corresponding motion. It
was delightful to ride over this unsullied coun
try of ever-changing water, and when looking
upward from the shallow vales, or abroad over
the round expanse from the tops of the wave
hills, I almost forgot at times that the glassy,
treeless country was forbidden to walkers. How
delightful it would be to ramble over it on foot,
enjoying the transparent crystal ground, and
the music of its rising and falling hillocks, un-
marred by the ropes and spars of a ship; to
study the plants of these waving plains and
their stream-currents; to sleep in wild weather
in a bed of phosphorescent wave-foam, or
briny scented seaweeds; to see the fishes by
night in pathways of phosphorescent light; to
walk the glassy plain in calm, with birds and
flocks of glittering flying fishes here and there,
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CROOKED ROUTE TO CALIFORNIA

or by night with every star pictured in its
bosom!

But even of the land only a small portion is
free to man, and if he, among other journeys
on forbidden paths, ventures among the ice
lands and hot lands, or up in the air in balloon
bubbles, or on the ocean in ships, or down into
it a little way in smothering diving-bells — in
all such small adventures man is admonished
and often punished in ways which clearly show
him that he is in places for which, to use an
approved phrase, he was never designed. How
ever, in view of the rapid advancement of our
time, no one can tell how far our star may fi
nally be subdued to man's will. At all events
I enjoyed this drifting locomotion to some
extent.

The tar-scented community of a ship is a
study in itself — a despotism on the small
territory of a few drifting planks pinned to
gether. But as our crew consisted only of four
sailors, a mate, and the captain, there were no
signs of despotism. We all dined at one table,
enjoying our fine store of salt mackerel and
plum duff, with endless abundance of oranges.
Not only was the hold of our little ship filled
with loose, unboxed oranges, but the deck also
was filled up level with the rails, and we had to
walk over the top of the golden fruit on boards.
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A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

Flocks of flying fishes often flew across the
ship, one or two occasionally falling among
the oranges. These the sailors were glad to ,
capture to sell in New York as curiosities, or
to give away to friends. But the captain had a
large Newfoundland dog who got the largest
share of these unfortunate fishes. He used to
jump from a dozing sleep as soon as he heard
the fluttering of their wings, then pounce and
feast leisurely on them before the sailors
could reach the spot where they fell.

In passing through the Straits of Florida the
winds died away and the sea was smoothed to
unruffled calm. The water here is very trans
parent and of delightfully pure pale-blue color,
as different from ordinary dull-colored water
as town smoke from mountain air. I could see
the bottom as distinctly as one sees the ground
when riding over it. It seemed strange that
our ship should be upborne in such an ethereal
liquid as this, and that we did not run aground
where the bottom seemed so near.

One morning, while among the Bahama dots
of islands, we had calm sky and calm sea. The
sun had risen in cloudless glory, when I ob
served a large flock of flying fish, a short dis
tance from us, closely pursued by a dolphin.
These fish-swallows rose in pretty good order,
skimmed swiftly ahead for fifty or a hundred

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CROOKED ROUTE TO CALIFORNIA

yards in a low arc, then dipped below the sur
face. Dripping and sparkling, they rose again
in a few seconds and glanced back into the lucid
brine with wonderful speed, but without appar
ent terror.

At length the dolphin, gaining on the flock,
dashed into the midst of them, and now all
order was at an end. They rose in scattering
disorder, in all directions, like a flock of birds
charged by a hawk. The pursuing dolphin also
leaped into the air, showing his splendid colors
and wonderful speed. After the first scattering
flight all steady pursuit was useless, and the dol
phin had but to pounce about in the broken mob
of its weary prey until satisfied with his meal.

We are apt to look out on the great ocean
and regard it as but a half -blank part of our
globe — a sort of desert, "a waste of water."
But, land animals though we be, land is about
as unknown to us as the sea, but the turbid
glances we gain of the ocean in general through
commercial eyes are comparatively worthless.
Now that science is making comprehensive
surveys of the life of the sea, and the forms of
its basins, and similar surveys are being made
into the land deserts, hot and cold, we may at
length discover that the sea is as full of life as
the land. None can tell how far man's knowl
edge may yet reach.

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A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

After passing the Straits and sailing up the
coast, when about opposite the south end of
the Carolina coast, we had stiff head winds all
the way to New York and our able little vessel
was drenched all day long. Of course our load
of oranges suffered, and since they were boarded
over level with the rail, we had difficulty in walk
ing and had many chances of being washed over
board. The flying fishes off Cape Hatteras ap
peared to take pleasure in shooting across from
wave-top to wave-top. They avoided the ship
during the day, but frequently fell among the
oranges at night. The sailors caught many, but
our big Newfoundland dog jumped forvthem
faster than the sailors, and so almost monop
olized the game.

When dark night fell on the stormy sea the
breaking waves of phosphorescent light were a
glorious sight. On such nights I stood on the
bowsprit holding on by a rope for hours in or
der to enjoy this phenomenon. How wonderful
this light is! Developed in the sea by myriads
of organized beings, it gloriously illuminates
the pathways of the fishes, and every breaking
wave, and in some places glows over large areas
like sheet lightning. We sailed through large
fields of seaweed, of which I procured speci
mens. I thoroughly enjoyed life in this novel
little tar-and-oakum home, and, as the end of

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CROOKED ROUTE TO CALIFORNIA

our voyage drew nigh, I was sorry at the
thought of leaving it.

We were now, on the twelfth day, approach
ing New York, the big ship metropolis. We
were in sight of the coast all day. The leaf
less trees and the snow appeared wonderfully
strange. It was now about the end of February
and snow covered the ground nearly to the
water's edge. Arriving, as we did, in this rough
winter weather from the intense heat and gen
eral tropical luxuriance of Cuba, the leafless,
snow-white woods of New York struck us with
all the novelty and impressiveness of a new
world. A frosty blast was sweeping seaward
from Sandy Hook. The sailors explored their
wardrobes for their long-cast-off woolens, and
pulled the ropes and managed the sails while
muffled in clothing to the rotundity of Eski
mos. For myself, long burdened with fever,
the frosty wind, as it sifted through my loos
ened bones, was more delicious and grateful
than ever was a spring-scented breeze.

We now had plenty of company; fleets of
vessels were on the wing from all countries.
Our taut little racer outwinded without excep
tion all who, like her, were going to the port.
Toward evening we were grinding and wedg
ing our way through the ice-field of the river
delta, which we passed with difficulty. Arrived
393

A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

in port at nine o'clock. The ship was deposited,
like a cart at market, in a proper slip, and next
morning we and our load of oranges, one third
rotten, were landed. Thus all the purposes of
our voyage were accomplished.

On our arrival the captain, knowing some
thing of the lightness of my purse, told me that
I could continue to occupy my bed on the ship
until I sailed for California, getting my meals
at a near-by restaurant. "This is the way we
are all doing," he said. Consulting the news
papers, I found that the first ship, the Nebraska,
sailed for Aspinwall in about ten days, and
that the steerage passage to San Francisco by
way of the Isthmus was only forty dollars.

In the mean time I wandered about the city
without knowing a single person in it. My walks
extended but little beyond sight of my little
schooner home. I saw the name Central Park
on some of the street-cars and thought I would
like to visit it, but, fearing that I might not be
able to find my way back, I dared not make the
adventure. I felt completely lost in the vast
throngs of people, the noise of the streets, and
the immense size of the buildings. Often I
thought I would like to explore the city if, like
a lot of wild hills and valleys, it was clear of
inhabitants.

The day before the sailing of the Panama

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CROOKED ROUTE TO CALIFORNIA

ship I bought a pocket map of California and
allowed myself to be persuaded to buy a dozen
large maps, mounted on rollers, with a map of
the world on one side and the United States on
the other. In vain I said I had no use for them.
"But surely you want to make money in Cali
fornia, don't you? Everything out there is very
dear. We '11 sell you a dozen of these fine maps
for two dollars each and you can easily sell them
in California for ten dollars apiece." I foolishly
allowed myself to be persuaded. The maps
made a very large, awkward bundle, but for
tunately it was the only baggage I had except
my little plant-press and a small bag. I laid
them in my berth in the steerage, for they were
too large to be stolen and concealed.

There was a savage contrast between life in
the steerage and my fine home on the little ship
fruiter. Never before had I seen such a barba
rous mob, especially at meals. Arrived at Aspin-
wall-Colon, we had half a day to ramble about
before starting across the Isthmus. Never shall
I forget the glorious flora, especially for the
first fifteen or twenty miles along the Chagres
River. The riotous exuberance of great forest
trees, glowing in purple, red, and yellow flow
ers, far surpassed anything I had ever seen,
especially of flowering trees, either in Florida
or Cuba. I gazed from the car-platform en-

395

A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

chanted. I fairly cried for joy and hoped that
some time I should be able to return and enjoy
and study this most glorious of forests to my
heart's content. We reached San Francisco
about the first of April, and I remained there
only one day, before starting for Yosemite
Valley.1

I followed the Diablo foothills along the San
Jose Valley to Gilroy, thence over the Diablo
Mountains to the valley of the San Joaquin by
the Pacheco Pass, thence down the valley op
posite the mouth of the Merced River, thence
across the San Joaquin, and up into the Sierra
Nevada to the mammoth trees of Mariposa, and
the glorious Yosemite, and thence down the
Merced to this place.2 The goodness of the
weather as I journeyed towards Pacheco was
beyond all praise and description — fragrant,
mellow, and bright. The sky was perfectly deli
cious, sweet enough for the breath of angels ;
every draught of it gave a separate and distinct
piece of pleasure. I do not believe that Adam
and Eve ever tasted better hi their balmiest
nook.

The last of the Coast Range foothills were
in near view all the way to Gilroy. Their union

1 At this point the journal ends. The remainder of this
chapter is taken from a letter written to Mrs. Ezra S. Carr
from the neighborhood of Twenty Hill Hollow in July, 1868.

2 Near Snelling, Merced County, California.

3%

CROOKED ROUTE TO CALIFORNIA

with the valley is by curves and slopes of inimita
ble beauty. They were robed with the green
est grass and richest light I ever beheld, and
were colored and shaded with myriads of flow
ers of every hue, chiefly of purple and golden
yellow. Hundreds of crystal rills joined song
with the larks, filling all the valley with music
like a sea, making it Eden from end to end.

The scenery, too, and all of nature in the
Pass is fairly enchanting. Strange and beauti
ful mountain ferns are there, low in the dark
canons and high upon the rocky sunlit peaks;
banks of blooming shrubs, and sprinklings and
gatherings of garment flowers, precious and
pure as ever enjoyed the sweets of a mountain
home. And oh! what streams are there! beam
ing, glancing, each with music of its own, sing
ing as they go, in shadow and light, onward
upon their lovely, changing pathways to the
sea. And hills rise over hills, and mountains
over mountains, heaving, waving, swelling, in
most glorious, overpowering, unreadable maj
esty.

When at last, stricken and faint like a crushed
insect, you hope to escape from all the terrible
grandeur of these mountain powers, other foun
tains, other oceans break forth before you; for
there, in clear view, over heaps and rows of
foothills, is laid a grand, smooth, outspread

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A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

plain, watered by a river, and another range
of peaky, snow-capped mountains a hundred
miles in the distance. That plain is the valley
of the San Joaquin, and those mountains are
the great Sierra Nevada. The valley of the
San Joaquin is the floweriest piece of world I
ever walked, one vast, level, even flower-bed, a
sheet of flowers, a smooth sea, ruffled a little in
the middle by the tree fringing of the river and
of smaller cross-streams here and there, from
the mountains.

Florida is indeed a "land of flowers," but
for every flower creature that dwells in its most
delightsome places more than a hundred are
living here. Here, here is Florida! Here they
are not sprinkled apart with grass between as
on our prairies, but grasses are sprinkled among
the flowers; not as in Cuba, flowers piled upon
flowers, heaped and gathered into deep, glow
ing masses, but side by side, flower to flower,
petal to petal, touching but not entwined,
branches weaving past and past each other,
yet free and separate — one smooth garment,
mosses next the ground, grasses above, petaled
flowers between.

Before studying the flowers of this valley and
their sky, and all of the furniture and sounds
and adornments of their home, one can scarce
believe that their vast assemblies are perma-

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nent; but rather that, actuated by some plant
purpose, they had convened from every plain
and mountain and meadow of their kingdom,
and that the different coloring of patches, acres,
and miles marks the bounds of the various
tribes and family encampments.

CHAPTER IX

TWENTY HILL HOLLOW l

WEKE we to cross-cut the Sierra Nevada
into blocks a dozen miles or so in thickness,
each section would contain a Yosemite Valley
and a river, together with a bright array of
lakes and meadows, rocks and forests. The
grandeur and inexhaustible beauty of each
block would be so vast and over-satisfying
that to choose among them would be like se
lecting slices of bread cut from the same loaf.
One bread-slice might have burnt spots, an
swering to craters; another would be more
browned; another, more crusted or raggedly
cut; but all essentially the same. In no greater
degree would the Sierra slices differ in genera^/
character. Nevertheless, we all would choose
the Merced slice, because, being easier of ac
cess, it has been nibbled and tasted, and pro
nounced very good; and because of the concen
trated form of its Yosemite, caused by certain
conditions of baking, yeasting, and glacier-
frosting of this portion of the great Sierra loaf.

1 This is the hub of the region where Mr. Muir spent
the greater part of the summer of 1868 and the spring of
1869,

400

TWENTY HILL HOLLOW

In like manner, we readily perceive that the
great central plain is one batch of bread -
one golden cake — and we are loath to leave
these magnificent loaves for crumbs, however
good.

After our smoky sky has been washed in
the rains of winter, the whole complex row of
Sierras appear from the plain as a simple wall
slightly beveled, and colored in horizontal
bands laid one above another, as if entirely
composed "of partially straightened rainbows.
So, also, the plain seen from the mountains has
the same simplicity of smooth surface, colored
purple and yellow, like a patchwork of irised
clouds. But when we descend to this smooth-
furred sheet, we discover complexity in its phys
ical conditions equal to that of the mountains,
though less strongly marked. In particular,
that portion of the plain lying between the
Merced and the Tuolumne, within ten miles
of the slaty foothills, is most elaborately carved
into valleys, hollows, and smooth undulations,
and among them is laid the Merced Yosemite
of the plain — Twenty Hill Hollow.

This delightful Hollow is less than a mile in
length, and of just sufficient width to form a
well-proportioned oval. It is situated about
midway 'between the two rivers, and five miles
from the Sierra foothills. Its banks are formed

401

A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

of twenty hemispherical hills; hence its name.
They surround and enclose it on all sides,
leaving only one narrow opening toward the
southwest for the escape of its waters. The
bottom of the Hollow is about two hundred
feet below the level of the surrounding plain,
and the tops of its hills are slightly below the
general level. Here is no towering dome, no
Tissiack, to mark its place; and one may ram
ble close upon its rim before he is made aware
of its existence. Its twenty hills are as won
derfully regular in size and position as in form.
They are like big marbles half buried in the
ground, each poised and settled daintily into
its place at a regularvdistance from its fellows,
making a charming fairy-land of hills, with
small, grassy valleys between, each valley hav
ing a tiny stream of its own, which leaps and
sparkles out into the open hollow, uniting to
form Hollow Creek.

Like all others in the immediate neighbor
hood, these twenty hills are composed of strati
fied lavas mixed with mountain drift hi vary
ing proportions. Some strata are almost wholly
made up of volcanic matter — lava and cinders
— thoroughly ground and mixed by the waters
that deposited them; others are largely com
posed of slate and quartz boulders of all de
grees of coarseness, forming conglomerates. A

402

TWENTY HILL HOLLOW

few clear, open sections occur, exposing an
elaborate history of seas, and glaciers, and vol
canic floods — chapters of cinders and ashes
that picture dark days, when 'l these bright
snowy mountains were clouded in smoke, and
river ed and laked with living fire. A fearful
age, say mortals, when these Sierras flowed
lava to the sea. What horizons of flame ! what
atmospheres of ashes and smoke!

The conglomerates and lavas of this region
are readily denuded by water. In the time
when their parent sea was removed to form
this golden plain, their regular surface, in great
part covered with shallow lakes, showed little
variation from motionless level until torrents
of rain and floods from the mountains gradu
ally sculptured the simple page to the present
diversity of bank and brae, creating, in the sec
tion between the Merced and the Tuolumne,
Twenty Hill Hollow, Lily Hollow, and the
lovely valleys of Cascade and Castle Creeks,
with many others nameless and unknown, seen
only by hunters and shepherds, sunk in the
wide bosom of the plain, like undiscovered gold.
Twenty Hill Hollow is a fine illustration of a
valley created by erosion of water. Here are
no Washington columns, no angular El Capi-
tans. The hollow canons, cut in soft lavas, are
not so deep as to require a single earthquake at

403

A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

the hands of science, much less a baker's dozen
of those convenient tools demanded for the
making of mountain Yosemites, and our mod
erate arithmetical standards are not outraged
by a single magnitude of this simple, compre
hensible hollow.

The present rate of denudation of this por
tion of the plain seems to be about one tenth of
an inch per year. This approximation is based
upon observations made upon stream-banks
and perennial plants. Rains and winds remove
mountains without disturbing their plant or
animal inhabitants. Hovering petrels, the fishes
and floating plants of ocean, sink and rise in
beautiful rhythm with its waves; and, in like
manner, the birds and plants of the plain sink
and rise with these waves of land, the only dif
ference being that the fluctuations are more
rapid in the one case than in the other.

In March and April the bottom of the Hol
low and every one of its hills are smoothly
covered and plushed with yellow and purple
flowers, the yellow predominating. They are
mostly social Composite, with a few claytonias,
gilias, eschscholtzias, white and yellow violets,
blue and yellow lilies, dodecatheons, and erio-
gonums set in a half-floating maze of purple
grasses. There is but one vine in the Hollow
— the Megarrhiza [Echinocystis T. & D.] or

404

TWENTY HILL HOLLOW

"Big Root." The only bush within a mile of
it, about four feet in height, forms so remark
able an object upon the universal smoothness
that my dog barks furiously around it, at a
cautious distance, as if it were a bear. Some
of the hills have rock ribs that are brightly col
ored with red and yellow lichens, and in moist
nooks there are luxuriant mosses — Bartramia,
Dicranum, Funaria, and several Hypnums. In
cool, sunless coves the mosses are companioned
with ferns — a Cystopteris and the little gold-
dusted rock fern, Gymnogramma triangular is.

The Hollow is not rich in birds. The meadow-
lark homes there, and the little burrowing
owl, the killdeer, and a species of sparrow.
Occasionally a few ducks pay a visit to its wa
ters, and a few tall herons — the blue and the
white — may at times be seen stalking along the
creek; and the sparrow hawk and gray eagle 1
come to hunt. The lark, who does nearly all
the singing for the Hollow, is not identical in
species with the meadowlark of the East,
though closely resembling it; richer flowers
and skies have inspired him with a better song
than was ever known to the Atlantic lark.

I have noted three distinct lark-songs here.
The words of the first, which I committed to

1 Mr. Muir doubtless meant the golden eagle (Aquila
chrysaetos).

405

A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

memory at one of their special meetings, spelled
as sung, are "Wee-ro spee-ro wee-o weer-ly
wee-it." On the 20th of January, 1869, they
sang "Queed-lix boodle," repeating it with
great regularity, for hours together, to music
sweet as the sky that gave it. On the 22d of
the same month, they sang "Chee chool chee-
dildy choodildy." An inspiration is this song of
the blessed lark, and universally absorbable by
human souls. It seems to be the only bird-song
of these hills that has been created with any
direct reference to us. Music is one of the at
tributes of matter, into whatever forms it may
be organized. Drops and sprays of air are
specialized, and made to plash and churn in the
bosom of a lark, as infinitesimal portions of
air plash and sing about the angles and hollows
of sand-grains, as perfectly composed and pre
destined as the rejoicing anthems of worlds;
but our senses are not fine enough to catch
the tones. Fancy the waving, pulsing melody
of the vast flower-congregations of the Hollow
flowing from myriad voices of tuned petal and
pistil, and heaps of sculptured pollen. Scarce
one note is for us; nevertheless, God be thanked
for this blessed instrument hid beneath the
feathers of a lark.

The eagle does not dwell in the Hollow; he
only floats there to hunt the long-eared hare.

406

TWENTY HILL HOLLOW

One day I saw a fine specimen alight upon a
hillside. I was at first puzzled to know what
power could fetch the sky-king down into the
grass with the larks. Watching him attentively,
I soon discovered the cause of his earthiness.
He was hungry and stood watching a long-
eared hare, which stood erect at the door of his
burrow, staring his winged fellow mortal full
in the face. They were about ten feet apart.
Should the eagle attempt to snatch the hare,
he would instantly disappear in the ground.
Should long-ears, tired of inaction, venture to
skim the hill to some neighboring burrow, the
eagle would swoop above him and strike him
dead with a blow of his pinions, bear him to
some favorite rock table, satisfy his hunger,
wipe off all marks of grossness, and go again to
the sky.

Since antelopes have been driven away, the
hare is the swiftest animal of the Hollow.
When chased by a dog he will not seek a bur
row, as when the eagle wings in sight, but
skims wavily from hill to hill across connecting
curves, swift and effortless as a bird-shadow.
One that I measured was twelve inches in
height at the shoulders. His body was eighteen
inches, from nose-tip to tail. His great ears
measured six and a half inches in length and
two in width. His ears — which, notwithstand-
407

A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

ing their great size, he wears gracefully and be
comingly — have procured for him the homely
nickname, by which he is commonly known, of
"Jackass rabbit." Hares are very abundant
over all the plain and up in the sunny, lightly
wooded foothills, but their range does not ex
tend into the close pine forests.

Coyotes, or California wolves, are occasion
ally seen gliding about the Hollow ; but they are
not numerous, vast numbers having been slain
by the traps and poisons of sheep-raisers. The
coyote is about the size of a small shepherd-
dog, beautiful and graceful in motion, with
erect ears, and a bushy tail, like a fox. Inas
much as he is fond of mutton, he is cordially
detested by " sheep-men" and nearly all cul
tured people.

The ground-squirrel is the most common ani
mal of the Hollow. In several hills there is a
soft stratum in which they have tunneled their
homes. It is interesting to observe these rodent
towns in time of alarm. Their one circular
street resounds with sharp, lancing outcries of
"Seekit, seek, seek, seekit!" Near neighbors,
peeping cautiously half out-of-doors, engage
in low, purring chat. Others, bolt upright on
the doorsill or on the rock above, shout excit
edly, as if calling attention to the motions and
aspects of the enemy. Like the wolf, this little

408

TWENTY HILL HOLLOW

animal is accursed, because of his relish for
grain. What a pity that Nature should have
made so many small mouths palated like our
own!

All the seasons of the Hollow are warm and
bright, and flowers bloom through the whole
year. But the grand commencement of the an
nual genesis of plant and insect life is governed
by the setting-in of the rains, in December or
January. The air, hot and opaque, is then
washed and cooled. Plant seeds, which for
six months have lain on the ground dry as if
garnered in a farmer's bin, at once unfold their
treasured life. Flies hum their delicate tunes.
Butterflies come from their coffins, like cotyle
dons from their husks. The network of dry
water-courses, spread over valleys and hollows,
suddenly gushes with bright waters, sparkling
and pouring from pool to pool, like dusty
mummies risen from the dead and set living and
laughing with color and blood. The weather
grows in beauty, like a flower. Its roots in the
ground develop day-clusters a week or two in
size, divided by and shaded in foliage of clouds;
or round hours of ripe sunshine wave and spray
in sky-shadows, like racemes of berries half
hidden in leaves.

These months of so-called rainy season are
not filled with rain. Nowhere else in North

409

A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

America, perhaps in the world, are Januarys
so balmed and glowed with vital sunlight. Re
ferring to my notes of 1868 and 1869, I find
that the first heavy general rain of the season
fell on the 18th of December. January yielded
to the Hollow, during the day, only twenty
hours of rain, which was divided among six
rainy days. February had only three days on
which rain fell, amounting to eighteen and one
half hours in all. March had five rainy days.
April had three, yielding seven hours of rain.
May also had three wet days, yielding nine
hours of rain, and completed the so-called
"rainy season" for that year, which is prob
ably about an average one. It must be re
membered that this rain record has nothing to
do with what fell in the night.

The ordinary rainstorm of this region has
little of that outward pomp and sublimity of
structure so characteristic of the storms of the
Mississippi Valley. Nevertheless, we have expe
rienced rainstorms out on these treeless plains,
in nights of solid darkness, as impressively sub
lime as the noblest storms of the mountains.
The wind, which in settled weather blows from
the northwest, veers to the southeast; the sky
curdles gradually and evenly to a grainless,
seamless, homogeneous cloud; and then comes
the rain, pouring steadily and often driven

410

TWENTY HILL HOLLOW

•

aslant by strong winds. In 1869, more than
three fourths of the winter rains came from the
southeast. One magnificent storm from the
northwest occurred on the 21st of March;
an immense, round-browed cloud came sail
ing over the flowery hills in most imposing
majesty, bestowing water as from a sea. The
passionate rain-gush lasted only about one
minute, but was nevertheless the most mag
nificent cataract of the sky mountains that I
ever beheld. A portion of calm sky toward
the Sierras was brushed with thin, white cloud-
tissue, upon which the rain-torrent showed to
a great height — a cloud waterfall, which, like
those of Yosemite, was neither spray, rain, nor
solid water. In the same year the cloudiness
of January, omitting rainy days, averaged
0.32; February, 0.13; March, 0.20; April, 0.10;
May, 0.08. The greater portion of this cloudi
ness was gathered into a few days, leaving the
others blocks of solid, universal sunshine in
every chink and pore.

At the end of January, four plants were in
flower: a small white cress, growing in large
patches; a low-set, umbelled plant, with yellow
flowers; an eriogonum, with flowers in leafless
spangles ; and a small borage wort. Five or six
mosses had adjusted their hoods, and were in
the prime of life. In February, squirrels, hares,

411

A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

and flowers were in springtime joy. Bright
plant-constellations shone everywhere about
the Hollow. Ants were getting ready for work,
rubbing and sunning their limbs upon the husk-
piles around their doors ; fat, pollen-dusted,
" burly, dozing humble-bees" were rumbling
among the flowers; and spiders were busy
mending up old webs, or weaving new ones.
Flowers were born every day, and came gush
ing from the ground like gayly dressed children
from a church. The bright air became daily
more songful with fly-wings, and sweeter with
breath of plants.

In March, plant-life is more than doubled.
The little pioneer cress, by this time, goes to
seed, wearing daintily embroidered silicles.
Several claytonias appear; also, a large white
leptosiphon[?], and two nemophilas. A small
plantago becomes tall enough to wave and
show silky ripples of shade. Toward the end of
this month or the beginning of April, plant-life
is at its greatest height. Few have any just con
ception of its amazing richness. Count the
flowers of any portion of these twenty hills, or
of the bottom of the Hollow, among the streams :
you will find that there are from one to ten
thousand upon every square yard, counting
the heads of Composites as single flowers. Yel
low Composite form by far the greater portion

412

TWENTY HILL HOLLOW

of this goldy-way. Well may the sun feed them
with his richest light, for these shining sunlets
are his very children — rays of his ray, beams
of his beam! One would fancy that these Cali
fornia days receive more gold from the ground
than they give to it. The earth has indeed be
come a sky; and the two cloudless skies, raying
toward each other flower-beams and sunbeams,
are fused and congolded into one glowing
heaven. By the end of April most of the Hol
low plants have ripened their seeds and died ;
but, undecayed, still assist the landscape with
color from persistent involucres and corolla-
like heads of chaffy scales.

In May, only a few deep-set lilies and erio-
gonums are left alive. June, July, August, and
September are the season of plant rest, fol
lowed, in October, by a most extraordinary out-
gush of plant-life, at the very driest time of the
whole year. A small, unobtrusive plant, Hemi-
zonia virgata, from six inches to three feet in
height, with pale, glandular leaves, suddenly
bursts into bloom, in patches miles in extent,
like a resurrection of the gold of April. I have
counted upward of three thousand heads upon
one plant. Both leaves and pedicels are so
small as to be nearly invisible among so vast
a number of daisy golden-heads that seem to
keep their places unsupported, like stars in the

413

A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

sky. The heads are about five eighths of an
inch in diameter; rays and disk-flowers, yellow;
stamens, purple. The rays have a rich, furred
appearance, like the petals of garden pansies.
The prevailing summer wind makes all the
heads turn to the southeast. The waxy secre
tion of its leaves and involucres has suggested
its grim name of "tarweed," by which it is
generally known. In our estimation, it is the
most delightful member of the whole Compos
ite Family of the plain. It remains in flower until
November, uniting with an eriogonum that
continues the floral chain across December to
the Spring plants of January. Thus, although
nearly all of the year's plant-life is crowded
into February, March, and April, the flower
circle around the Twenty Hill Hollow is never
broken.

The Hollow may easily be visited by tourists
en route for Yosemite, as it is distant only about
six miles from Snelling's. It is at all seasons in
teresting to the naturalist ; but it has little that
would interest the majority of tourists earlier
than January or later than April. If you wish to
see how much of light, life, and joy can be got
into a January, go to this blessed Hollow. If
you wish to see a plant-resurrection, — myriads
of bright flowers crowding from the ground,
like souls to a judgment, — go to Twenty Hills

414

TWENTY HILL HOLLOW

in February. If you are traveling for health,
play truant to doctors and friends, fill your
pocket with biscuits, and hide in the hills of
the Hollow, lave in its waters, tan in its golds,
bask in its flower-shine, and your baptisms will
make you a new creature indeed. Or, choked
in the sediments of society, so tired of the
world, here will your hard doubts disappear,
your carnal incrustations melt off, and your
soul breathe deep and free hi God's shoreless
atmosphere of beauty and love.

Never shall I forget my baptism in this font.
It happened in January, a resurrection day for
many a plant and for me. I suddenly found
myself on one of its hills ; the Hollow overflowed
with light, as a fountain, and only small, sun
less nooks were kept for mosseries and ferneries.
Hollow Creek spangled and mazed like a river.
The ground steamed with fragrance. Light,
of unspeakable richness, was brooding the
flowers. Truly, said I, is California the Golden
State — in metallic gold, in sun gold, and in
plant gold. The sunshine for a whole summer
seemed condensed into the chambers of that
one glowing day. Every trace of dimness had
been washed from the sky; the mountains were
dusted and wiped clean with clouds — Pacheco
Peak and Mount Diablo, and the waved blue
wall between; the grand Sierra stood along the
415

A THOUSAND-MILE WALK

plain, colored in four horizontal bands : — the
lowest, rose purple; the next higher, dark pur
ple; the next, blue; and, above all, the white
row of summits pointing to the heavens.

It may be asked, What have mountains fifty
or a hundred miles away to do with Twenty
Hill Hollow? To lovers of the wild, these moun
tains are not a hundred miles away. Their
spiritual power and the goodness of the sky
make them near, as a circle of friends. They rise
as a portion of the hilled walls of the Hollow.
You cannot feel yourself out of doors; plain,
sky, and mountains ray beauty which you feel.
You bathe in these spirit-beams, turning round
and round, as if warming at a camp-fire. Pres
ently you lose consciousness of your own sepa
rate existence: you blend with the landscape,
and become part and parcel of nature.

THE END

JOHN MUIR'S THOUSAND

WALK TO THE GULF.

INDEX

INDEX

Agave, 377, 378.

Agrostis scabra. See Grass,
rough hair.

Alligators, 322-24, 335.

America, early interest in,
43—45; emigration to, 44-
50.

Anderson, Mr., 172, 173.

Anemone patens var. Nuttal-
liana, 97, 98.

Animals, man's tyranny over,
68, 69, 89, 90, 145; acci
dents to, 108-10; the tam
ing of, 148, 149; cleanli
ness, 150, 151; endurance
of cold, 152; assumed to be
made for man, 355, 356;
man-eating, 356; essential
to the cosmos, 357.

Apples, wild, 100.

Apricot vine, 291.

Aspidium acrostichoides. See
Fern, Christmas.

Asplenium ebeneum. See
Spleen wort, ebony.

Asplenium filix-ffvmina, 273.

Asters, 267, 271, 273, 283,
291.

Athens, Georgia, 288.

Audubon, John James, on the
passenger pigeon, 44, 131-
34.

Augusta, Ga., 290, 291.

Aurora borealis, 163, 164.

Azaleas, 267, 271.

Badgers, 147.

Bahama Islands, 390.

Banana, 297.

Bathing, 15, 16; of animals,
150, 151; of man, 151, 152.
See also Swimming.

Beale, Mr., 280.

Bear, black, 137, 147.

Bees, 186-91.

Beetle, whirligig, 93.

Berries, 99, 100.

Bible, the, 193-95.

Bird neighbors, 306, 308, 309.

Birds, removing their eggs,
53, 54; met with in Wiscon
sin, 53-61, 111-34; acci
dents to, 106-10; bathing,
150, 151.

Birds'-nesting, 23, 24, 37-40.

Blackbird, red-winged, 114,
115; hunting, 140.

Blacksmith, the minister, 88;
his cruelty to his brother,
170-73.

Blairsville, Ga., 281.

Blue Ridge, 281.

Bluebird, 353; nest, 52, 112;
a favorite, 112, 113.

Boat, 94.

Boatmen (insects), 93.

Bobolink, 114.

Bob-white, or quail, 354; ac
cidents to, 107-10; habits,
122, 123.

Bona venture burying-ground,

419

INDEX

299-311; oaks in, 300, 301,
305; graves of, 303, 304;
Muir camps in, 305-09.

Books, 192-96.

Botany, first lessons in, 223-
25.

Boys, savagery of, 21-23.

Brake, common, 273.

Brant, 353.

Bread, importance of, 321.

Breakers, song of, 375.

Brier, sensitive, 261, 262.

Briers, cat, 267, 268; in Flori
da swamps, 337, 340, 341.

Brush fires, 62, 63.

Bull-bat, or nighthawk, 57, 58.

Bullfrogs, 61.

Burkesville, Ky., 257.

Butterflies, 301.

Butterfly-weed, 99.

Butternut tree, 255.

Cactus, 329, 354, 373, 374.
California, crooked route to,

381-99; arrival in, 396;

flowers, 397-99, 404, 405,

411-14; the Golden State,

415.
Cameron, Mr., planter, 294-

97.

Cape Hatteras, 392.
Carriages, in Havana, 368.
Cats, a boy's cruel prank, 21-

23; a cat with kittens, 63,

64; old Tom and the loon,

124-27; vegetable, 352.
Caves, Kentucky, 251-55.
Cedar Keys, 344-59; size of,

352.

Chagres River, 395.
Charlie, the feeble-minded

man, 170-73.

Chattahoochee River, 284,

285.

Chicago, 111., 234.
Chickadee, 116.
Chickens, prairie, 117, 118.
Chipmunk, 154-56.
Choke-damp, 185, 186.
Chores, 161-63.
Christian Philosopher, The, by

Thomas Dick, 193.
Clinch River, 270, 271.
Clocks, 201-06.
Clover, 159.
Coast Range foothills, 396,

397.

Combe's Physiology, 151.
Composite, 298, 376, 404,

412, 413.

Consumption, 169, 170.
Coons, 136, 147, 148.
Copperhead, 89, 90.
Corn, husking, 86, 87.
Cotton, an unhappy looking

plant, 257; picking, 287.
Cows, sympathy with, 77.
Coyote, 408.

Crane, 317; sandhill, 56, 80.
Creator and creation, erro
neous views of, 354-59.
Crops, Wisconsin, 159, 160.
Crows, 353, 354.
Cuba, a sojourn in, 363-80;

weather of, 366; wild plants,

370, 371; flowery vines,

371, 372.

Cubans, personal appearance,
368; cruel to animals, 370.

Cumberland Mountains, 259,
260-83, 385.

Cumberland River, 257.

Cypress, 292, 297.

Cypripedium, 98, 99.

420

INDEX

Cystopteris. See Fern, blad
der.

Dandy Doctor terror, the, 7-9.

Davel Brae, 25, 26.

Death, our warped ideas of,

302.

Deer, 136-39; hunt, 342, 343.
Deer's tongue, 273 n.
Desk, a student's, 225, 226.
Dick, Thomas, his Christian

Philosopher, 193.
Dipping snuff, 281.
Dirt, peculiar to civilization,

333.
Dog, Watch, the mongrel,

64-68.
Dolphin, in pursuit of flying

fish, 390, 391.
Doves, mourning, 353.
Duck, wood, 119, 120.
Ducks, wild, 118-20.
Dunbar, Scotland, a boyhood

in, 1-46; later visit to, 31,

32; memories of, 344, 387.
Dunbar Castle, 16.
Duncan, William, 185, 186.

Eagle, bald, 301, 306; and

fish-hawk, 43, 44.
Eagle, golden, 405 and n.,

406, 407.
Early-rising machine, 201-

204, 225, 226.
Electricity, 296, 297.
Elizabethtown, Ky., 250.
Emory River, 270, 271.
Erosion, by water, 403, 404.

Farmers, in Kentucky, 251;

a credulous one, 262.
Fern, bladder, 256, 273, 405.

Fern, Christmas, 272.

Fern, cinnamon, 261, 267,
318.

Fern, Dicksonia, 271, 273.

Fern, flowering, 261, 267.

Fern, gold-dusted rock, 405.

Fernandina, Florida, 315.

Ferns, 99, 251.

Feud, in Tennessee, 278.

Fever, Muir's illness in Flor
ida, 347^9.

Fever and ague, 354.

Fiddler, story of a Scotch,
106.

Fighting, boys', 24-26, 28-32.

Fireflies, 58, 59.

Fires, brush, 62, 63; house
hold, 163; grass, 183; light
ing the schoolhouse fire,
220-22.

Fish, 94, 95; flying, 390, 392;
pursued by dolphin, 390,
391.

Fishing, 94, 95.

Flicker, 54.

Florida, swamps, 312-43; ar
rival in, 315; coast of, 315,
316; forests, 320, 325;
streams, 325, 326; a low
country, 328; a strange
land, 386; Straits of, 390.

Flowering trees, 332, 395.

Flowers, at Dunbar, 11-13;
wild, in Wisconsin, 96-99.

Food question, the, 193-95.

Forests, Kentucky, 247-59;
pine, 288; vine clad, 291;
Florida, 320, 324, 325.

Fountain Lake, 51, 93-95, 96,
101-105.

Fountain Lake Meadow, 51,
58.

421

INDEX

Fox River, 100, 114, 118.
Foxes, 146, 147.
Frogs, love-songs of, 61.
Fuller, 105.

Gainesville, Ga., 284, 329,

331.
Gardenia florida. See Jasmine,

cape.

Gardens, artificial, 255, 379.
Geese, wild, 353.
Georgia, river country of,

284-98; oaks in, 300, 301;

people and homes of, 312,

313; a strange land, 386,

387.

Gerardias, 290.
Ghosts, 17, 18.
Gilrye, Grandfather, 4, 5, 36,

45, 46.

Ginseng, 279.

Glasgow Junction, Ky., 256.
Glow-worms, 59.
God, a conceited view of, 355.
Gold mines, in Tennessee,

274.

Goldenrod, 56, 72, 109, 267.
Goose, Canada, 120-22.
Gophers, 156-58.
Grandfather. See Gilrye,

Grandfather.

Grapes, 273, 284, 285, 291.
Grass, rough hair, 293.
Grasses, 289, 290, 291, 327.
Gray, Alexander, 50, 51.
Green Lake, 84, 85.
Grist mills, 274, 275.
Griswold, Judge, 223-25.
Grouse, ruffed, or partridge,

drumming, 59, 60.
Grubs, 182, 183.
Guerrillas, 266, 268, 269.

Gymnogramma triangularis,
405.

Half-witted man, 170-73.

Hare, Dr., 7.

Hare, long-eared, 406-08.

Hares, 145, 146.

Havana, harbor, 363; Sunday
in, 365; evening in, 368;
carriages of the nobility,
369; public squares, 368,
369; streets, 369; houses,
370; botanical garden, 378,
379; negroes in, 379, 380.

Hawk, fish, and bald eagle,
43, 44.

Hawk, sparrow, 405.

Hawks, 55, 142.

Heathwort, 261.

Hell, warnings as to, 63.

Hemlock, 271.

Hen-hawk, 55.

Hermizonia virgata, 413, 414.

Herons, 351, 353, 405.

Hickory, 100.

Hickory Hill, purchase and
development of the farm,
180-87; life at, 186-208;
vacation work at, 222.

Hiwassee River, 279-81.

Hodgson, Mr., sawmill owner,
242, 345; Muir works for,
346, 347; cares for Muir
through illness, 348, 349.

Holabird, Mr., 120.

Holidays, 140.

Hollow Creek, 402, 415.

Holly, 281.

Homo sapiens, unwisdom of,
357, 359.

Honey-bees, 186-91.

Horse, ferry, 249, 250.

422

INDEX

Horse Cave, 254.

Horses, the pony Jack, 77-84;
Nob and Nell, 84-86, 87-89.

Hospitality, in the South,256,
263, 264, 273, 274, 280, 291,
293, 295, 296, 298, 346.

Hunt, the side, 135, 136.

Hunting, selfishness of, 343.

Hunting expeditions, 137.

Hyla, 61.

Hypnum, 256, 271, 405.

Ice, whooping of, 165, 166.

Ice-storm, 164, 165.

Ilex, 281.

" Inchcape Bell, The," 6, 7.

Indian moccasins (flowers),
98, 99.

Indianapolis, Ind., 247.

Indians, hunting muskrats,
67; killing pigs, 72, 73;
stealing a horse, 84-86;
getting ducks and wild rice,
118, 119; hunting coons
and deer, 136, 137; fond of
muskrat flesh, 144; rights
of, 174, 175.

Industry, excessive, 177-79.

Insects, 92, 93.

Inventions, on the farm, 198-
208; introduced to the
world, 208-16; the clock
fire, 220-22; at the Uni
versity, 225-28.

Island Belle, schooner, 360-
63.

Jack, the pony, 78-84.
Jamestown, Tenn., 262.
Jasmine, cape, 293, 294.
Jay, blue, nest, 52-54.
Jeffersonville, Ind., 247.

Kentucky, 239, 385; oaks,
248, 251, 258, 259; streams
and wells salty, 248, 250;
farmers, 251; caves, 251,
252, 254, 255; forests, 248,
251, 256; a leafy state, 258.

Kentucky Knobs, 248.

Kettle-holes, 80, 81.

Killdeer, 405.

Kingbird, 55, 56.

Kingston, Tenn., 271.

Kingston, Wis., 49, 50.

Lady's-slippers, 98, 99.

Lake Mendota, 105.

Landlord, a friendly, 210, 211.

Lark. See Meadowlark, Sky
lark.

Lauderdale, Lord, his gar
dens, 4.

Laurels, 267, 271.

Lawson, Peter, 12-14.

Lawson boys, 102, 103, 140.

Liatris, 273.

Lightning-bugs, 58, 59.

Lilium superbum, 99.

Lime Key, 354.

Linnaeus, 338.

Linnet, red-headed, 150.

Live-oak. See Oak, live.

"Llewellyn's Dog," 5, 6.

Locomotive, riding on a, 212-
14.

Loggers, Florida, 321, 322.

Loon, 123-27.

Louisville, Ky., 247.

Lycopodium, 325.

Lyon, Mr., teacher, 26, 32.

Maccoulough's Course of Read
ing, 43.
McRath, Mr., 148.

423

INDEX

Madison, Wis., State Fair at,

208, 214-17; life in, 217-

28.

Madisonville, Tenn., 273.
Madotheca, 271.
Magnolia, 271, 326, 387.
Magnolia grandiflora, 298; in

Florida, 318, 332.
Mair, George, 174, 175.
Mallard, 119.
Mammoth Cave, 254, 255.
Man-catchers, plant, 268.
Maps, 395.

Marmot, mountain, 149.
Meadowlark, 115, 116; songs

of, 405, 406.

Meals, 35, 36; the Scotch reli
gious view of, 199.
Melons, 159, 160.
Memory, imperishable, 344,

345, 387.
Merced River, 396; valley,

400.

Mexico, Gulf of, 345.
Milkworts, 267.
Minister, the blacksmith, 88;

his cruelty to his brother,

170-73.
Mistletoe, 256.
Moccasins, Indian, 98, 99.
Mockingbird, 353.
Montgomery, Tenn., 270.
Morro Castle, Havana, 363,

367, 383.

Morro Hill, 364, 366, 372,377.
Mosquitoes, 92, 93.
Moss, Spanish or long, 292,

297, 300, 387.
Mosses, 256, 271, 405, 411.
Mount Yonah, 283.
Mountaineers, Southern, 282,

283.

Mouse, European field, with
young, 4.

Mouse, meadow, or field, 87;
eaten by a horse, 87.

Muir, Anna, 46.

Muir, Anne (Gilrye) (mo
ther), 11, 14,18,20,24, 41,
205, 207, 210.

Muir, Daniel (brother), 46,
94, 118, 178.

Muir, Daniel (father), 10, 11,
21, 27, 36, 37, 41, 44-46,
49-51, 68, 69-71, 74, 77-79,
81-83, 94, 119, 153, 156,
162, 164, 174, 177, 179, 181,
184-86; admonitions, 63;
Scotch correction, 69-71 ;
as a church-goer, 87, 88;
his advice as to swimming,
101 ; his ideas about books
and the Bible, 192-95; rules
as to going to bed and get
ting up, 196-200; his reli
gious view of meals, 199;
and his son's inventions,
201-07; his parting advice
to his son, 209; theories on
bringing up children, 209,
210.

Muir, David, 11, 18-20, 36,
44, 45, 46, 47, 52, 64, 70, 71,
79, 89, 94, 102, 178,184,210;
kills a deer, 138, 139.

Muir, John, fondness for the
wild, 1, 41, 42; earliest rec
ollections, 2, 3; first school,
5-10, 24-28; favorite sto
ries in reading-book, 5-7;
favorite hymns and songs,
9, 10; early fondness for
flowers, 11-13; an early
accident, 14, 15; bathing,

424

INDEX

15, 16; boyish sports, 15-22,
33, 34; grammar school, 26-
33; birds'-nesting, 37-40;
early interest in America,
43, 44; emigration to Amer
ica, 44-48; settling in Wis
consin, 48-52; life on the
Fountain Lake farm, 51-
180; escaping a whipping,
69-71; learning to ride, 78-
81; learning to swim, 101-
103; ambition in mowing
and cradling, 161, 178; put
to the plough, 176; hard
work, 176-79; running the
breaking plough, 181, 182;
life at Hickory Hill, 184-
208; adventure in digging
a well, 184-86; educating
himself, 192-97; early ris
ing proves a way out of
difficulties, 196-200; inven
tions, 198-208; deciding on
an occupation, 207, 208; de
termines to take his inven
tions to the State Fair, 208;
starting out into the world,
209-16; at the State Fair,
214-16; enters a machine-
shop at Prairie du Chien,
217, 218; odd jobs at Madi
son, 217, 218; enters the
University, 219, 220; life at
the University, 219-228;
teaching school, 220-22;
vacation work at Hickory
Hill, 222, 223; first lessons
in botany, 223-25; more
inventions, 225-27; enters
the University of the Wil
derness, 228; injures an
eye, 232, 233, 236; his

thousand mile walk to the
Gulf, 237-41, 247-359; re
visits Florida friends, 242,
243; in Cuba, 360-83; re
turns to New York, 383-
94; goes to California, 396-
416.

Muir, Margaret, 46, 202.

Muir, Mary, 46.

Muir, Sarah, 14, 46, 103.

Muir's Lake. See Fountain
Lake.

Munford, Mr., pioneer, 252,
253

Munfordville, Ky., 252, 253.

Murphy, N. C., 280.

Music, one of the attributes
of matter, 406.

Muskrats, an Indian hunting,
67; habits, 142-45.

Nebraska, ship in which Muir
sailed for California, 394-
96.

Negroes, 256; woman at ford,
249; queer little boy, 249,
250; ox driver, 253, 254;
teamster, 272; easy-going,
287; polite, 288; super
stitious, 293; of Georgia,
312; a dangerous one, 328,
329; a primitive family,
329-31; in Havana, 379.

New York, 393, 394.

Nighthawk, 57, 58.

Nob and Nell, the horses, 84-
86, 87-89.

Nuthatches, 116, 117.

Nuts, 100.

Oak, black, 251, 272.
Oak, dwarf, 350.

425

INDEX

Oak, live, 300, 301, 349, 350.

Oak, water, 284, 289.

Oaks, in Kentucky, 248, 251,

258; in Tennessee, 259, 267.
Opuntia, 354.
Oriole, Baltimore, 116.
Osmunda dnnamomea. See

Fern, cinnamon.
Osmunda Claytoniana, 261,

273.
Osmunda regalis. See Fern,

flowering.

Owl, burrowing, 405.
Owls, 117, 320.
Oxen, humanity in, 74-76.

Palmetto, cabbage, 318-20; a
fine grove of, 336-39.

Palmetto, saw, 327.

Palms, 378, 379.

Pardeeville, Wis., 210-12.

Parsons, Captain, of the
Island Belle, 361-65, 382,
383.

Partridge, or ruffed grouse,
drumming, 59, 60.

Pasque-flower, 97, 98.

Passion flower, 291.

Pelicans, 353.

Perkins, Dr., 293.

Philadelphia, Tenn., 272, 273.

Phosphorescence at sea, 392.

Phrenology, 212.

Pickerel, 94, 95.

Pigeon, passenger, Audubon's
account, 44, 131-34; ex
termination, 68, 69; in Wis
consin, 128-31; Pokagon's
account, 134.

Pine barrens, 294, 321, 326.

Pine, long-leafed, 290, 332,
350.

Pines, 267, 326.
Pinus Cubensis, 318, 332.
Pinus palustris, 290, 318.
Plant, striking power of

adaptation of, 375, 376.
Plant-gold, 364.
Plants and minerals, assumed

to be made for man, 355,

356; sensation in, 358.
Ploughing, 160, 161, 176; the

breaking plough, 181, 182.
Plutarch's Lives, 193, 194.
Pokagon, his account of the

passenger pigeon, 134.
Polygalas, 267.
Polypodium hexagonopterum,

272.

Pomegranate, 291, 292.
Portage, Wis., 76, 77, 88.
Prairie chickens, 117, 118.
Prairie du Chien, 217, 218.
Prater, Mr., friend of Muir's,

284-86.
Pteris aquilina. See Brake,

common.
Pucaway Lake, 118.

Quail. See Bob-white.

Rabbit, jackass, 406-08.
Rabbits, 145, 146.
Raccoon, 136, 147, 148.
Rails, splitting, 176, 177.
Rainy season, 409-11.
Rattlesnakes, 89, 90, 286,

287.

Reid, Mr., 169, 170.
Ridgway, Robert, 53.
River, adventure in crossing,

286, 287.
Rivers: Chagres, 395; Chat-

tahoochee, 284; Clinch,

271; Cumberland, 257; Em-

426

INDEX

ory, 270; Hiwassee, 279,

280; Merced, 396; Salt, 248;

Savannah, 293.
Road-making, 167.
Robin, American, 112, 113,

353.

Robin, European, 23, 24.
Rolling Fork, 249.

Salt River, 248.
San Francisco, 396.
San Joaquin valley, 397, 398.
Sand dunes, 304.
Sandy Hook, 393.
Savannah, Ga., 298.
Savannah River, 293.
Scale-mosses (Madotheca),

271.
Schrankia, sensitive brier,

261, 262.

Scootchers, 18-20.
Scotch, the, their ideas of

self-punishment, 105, 106.
Scotch, the language, 48.
Scott, Gen. Winfield, 280.
Scottish Grays, 23.
Scuppernong grape, 285.
Sea, beautiful in storm, 388,

392; our ignorance of, 391.
Sea-islands, 314, 315.
Self-punishment, 105, 106.
Settlers in Wisconsin, 168-75,

177-80.
Sheep, predestined purpose

of, 355.

Sherman, Gen. W. T., 295.
Ship, enjoyable life on, 388-

90, 392.

Shrike, a burglarious, 157, 158.
Siddons, Mungo, 8, 9, 12, 26.
Sierra Nevada, 398, 400-02,

415.

Simmons, Captain, 334-37.

Skaters (insects), 93.

Skylark, 38-40.

Snake, blow, 90, 91.

Snakes, 89-92.

Snipe, a case of difficult par
turition, 108.

Snipe, jack, 60, 61.

Snowstorms, 164.

Solidagoes, 267, 291, 304, 332.

Southey, Robert, his " Inch-
cape Bell," 6, 7.

Sow, the old, 72, 73.

Spanish bayonet, 351, 352.

Sparrow, song, 116.

Spermophile, or ground squir
rel, 408, 409; a frozen, 109,
110.

Spinning, in mountain cabins,
276; among Georgia farm
ers, 312, 313.

Spirit-rappings, 168.

Spleenwort, ebony, 273.

Squirrel, flying, 154.

Squirrel, gray, 152-54.

Squirrel, ground. See Chip
munk, Gophers, Spermo
phile.

State Fair, 208, 209, 214-16.

Steerage, 395.

Stirling, Professor, 219.

Storm at sea, 361-63, 387,
388, 392.

Strawberries, wild, 99, 100.

Sunfish, 94, 95.

Sunflowers, 249.

Sunset, gorgeous, 289, 360.

Swamps, 166, 167; Florida,
312-43; vine-tangled, 317,
318, 334, 340, 341; night in,
320, 321, 333, 334.

Swans, wild, 120.

427

INDEX

Swimming, 101-05.

Sylvan Shore, steamship, 314.

Table, a peculiar, 294.

Tanager, scarlet, 116.

Tarweed, 413, 414.

Taxodium. See Cypress.

Tennessee, 261, 385, 386;
ferns and vines in, 261, 271,
273; an old farmer, 262; a
friendly blacksmith, 264-
67; trees and plants, 267,
271, 272; briers, 267, 268;
guerrillas, 268, 269; night
with a mountaineer, 273,
274; gold mining, 274; grist
mills, 274, 275; spinning
and weaving, 276; gran
deur of scenery, 277; a feud,
278, 279.

Thermometer, a large, 206,
207.

Thomson, Ga., 290.

Thrasher, brown, 113, 353.

Thrush, brown. See Thrasher.

Thunder-storms, 62.

Tillandsia usneoides. See
Moss, Spanish.

Track Gap, Tenn., 278.

Trap, the steel, 144, 145.

Tuberculosis, 169, 170.

Turk's-turban, 99.

Turtle, snapping, 66.

Twenty Hill Hollow, 401-16;
described, 401, 402; created
by erosion of water, 403;
flowers in, 404, 405, 411-
14; birds, 405-07; animals,
407-09; seasons, 409-15.

Unaka Mountains, 271, 273.
Vaccination, 10, 11.

Vanilla plant, 273.

Vegetable cats, 352.

Vines, grape, 34, 47, 48, 49,
56; in Florida swamps, 317,
318, 334, 340, 341, 372; in
Cuba, 371-74; in Twenty
Hill Hollow, 404, 405.

Vitis rotundifolia, 285 n.

Vohn, John, 275.

Waders, 351.

Wagon, a remarkable, 282,283.
War, marks of, 313.
Water-boatmen, 93.
Water-bugs, 93.
Water-lily, 96, 97.
Weaving, in mountain cab
ins, 276; among Georgia

farmers, 312, 313.
Well, digging a, 184-86.
Whales, storehouses of oil for

man, 355.
Whippings, 69-72.
Whip-poor-will, 56, 57.
Wiard, an inventor, 217.
Wilson, Alexander, account

of fish hawk and bald eagle,

43, 44.

Wind-flower, 97, 98.
Winds, language of, 384-87.
Wisconsin, settling in, 49-52;

life in, 51-228.
Wood, Alphonso, Botany,

261, 266 n., 273 n., 285 n.
Woodpecker, red-headed, 54;

drowning, 106-108; shot

and resurrected, 140-42.
Woodpeckers, nest-holes and

young, 54, 55.
Wrecks, 33.

Yucca, 351, 352.

tttoerjride

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